UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


*  A  ''   i     y     •      ''  >     . 

' 


, -lw/  v; 

/tlA'O^  J  . 

'   •»  .          * 

«   ' 


aptrs 


Parson  Potter  and  his  wife  were  wonderfully  pie; 
tune  o'  Haddam.— PAGE  27. 


with  it,  used  to  sing  it  to  tlit> 


THR 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS 


BY 

FRANCES  M.  WHITCHEE. 


"WITH     A.N 

BY 

ALICE    B../NEAL. 


NEW  YORK: 
PUBLISHED   FOR  ALBERT  MASON, 

BT  A.  C.  ARMSTRONG  &  SON, 
714  BROADWAY. 

1880. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855, 

BY  J.  C.  DERBY, 

IB  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  fot 
the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


L 
HEZEKIAH  BKDOTT 21 

n. 

THE  WIDOW  ESSAYS  POBTBT .    27 


III. 


-WIDOW  JENKINS*  ANIMOSITY. 


IV. 
MB.  CKANH  WALKS  nr 89 

V. 

€ 

TUB  WIDOW  DISCOURSES  OF  PuMPKnra. 47 

£ 

VL 

<       THE  WIDOW  LOSES  HKB  BEAU 69 

«  VIL 

CQ 

MB.  CBANE  ABOUT  TO  PROPOSE 70 

DJ 

vm. 

MB.  CRANE  WALKS  our TO 

4C1361 


0  ONTENT8. 


IX. 

THB  WIDOW  "SETS  HER  CAP"... 


X- 

THE  WIDOW  RESOLVES  TO  LEAVE  WIGGLETOWN 95 

XL 
THE  WIDOW  TRADES  WITH  A  PEDDLER. 101 

XTT. 

THE   WIDOW   AND  AUNT   MAGUIHE   DISCOURSE   ON  VARIOUS 

TOPICS  - 119 

XITL 

THE  WIDOW  HAVING  HEARD  THAT  ELDER  SNIFFLES  is  SICK, 
WRITES  TO  HIM  184 

XIV. 

THE  WIDOW  RESORTS  TO  ELDER  SNIFFLES  FOR  RELIGIOUS  IN- 
STRUOTION 141 

XV. 
THB  WIDOW  CONCLUDES  TO  PUBLISH 153 

XVL 

THE   WIDOW   PREPARES   TO    RECEIVE   ELDER    SNIFFLES    ON 
THANKSGIVING-DAY- 161 

xvn. 

£HE  WIDOW  RETIRES  TO  A  GROVE  IK  THE  REAR  OF  ELDER 
SNIFFLES'  HOUSE.  . .  . .  176 


CONTENTS.  VU 

xvm. 

THB  WIDOW  WRITES  TO  HER  DAUGHTER,  MRS.  JUPITER  SMITH.  .  184 

XTX. 
THE  RET.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  ABROAD 191 

XX. 

THE  RET.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  AT  HOME 204 

XXL 

THE  RET.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  EXPRESSES  HER  SENTIMENTS  IN  RE- 
GARD TO  THE  PARSONAGE     .     222 

XXTT, 
AUNT  MAGUIRE'S  EXPERIENCE -232 


xxm. 

AUNT  MAGUIRE'S  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  DONATION  PARTY 245 

XXIV. 

A.UNT  MAGUIRE  TREATS  OF  THE  CONTEMPLATED  SEWING  SOCIETY 
AT  SCRABBLE  Hm, 273 

XXV. 

A  UNI-   MAGUIRE   CONTINUES  HER   ACCOUNT   OP   THE  SEWING 

SOCD3TY 293 

XXVL 
AUNT  MAGUIRE'S  VISIT  TO  SLABTOWN 318 


VlS  0  O  NTENTS 

xx  vn. 

VISIT  TO  SLABTOWN  CONTINUED... 


xxvm. 

MRS.  MAGTJIRE'S  ACCOUNT  or  DEACON  WHIPPLB  .............  345 


Mm  MUDLAW'S  EBOEPE  TOE  POTATO  PUDDING  ...............  869 

XXX. 

MOBNING  CALLS  ;  OB  ETEBT  BODTS  PAiTiouLAa  FBIBND  ......  383 


INTRODUCTORY. 


THE  Bedott  Papers — now  for  the  first  time  collected, 
were  first  widely  introduced  to  public  notice  through  the 
columns  of  "  Neal's  Saturday  Gazette." 

Its  editor — Joseph  C.  Neal,  the  well  known  author  of  the 
"  Charcoal  Sketches,"  was  struck  by  the  originality  and  clear- 
ness of  the  first  of  the  series,  when  submitted  among  the 
mass  of  contributions,  which  crowd  a  weekly  newspaper. 
It  was  scarcely  in  print  before  the  author's  name  began  to 
be  asked  by  subscribers,  casual  readers,  and  brother  editors, 
some  of  whom  attributed  them  to  Mr.  Neal  himself.  They 
could  scarcely  be  made  to  believe  that  sketches  so  full  of 
humor,  so  remarkable  for  minute  observation  of  human  na- 
ture, were  the  work  of  an  unpracticed  pen. 

A  correspondence  arising  in  this  way  between  the  editor 
and  his  unknown  contributor,  Mr.  Neal  learned  that  "  the 
Widow  Bedott,"  as  she  was  familiarly  called,  had  not  even 
entered  the  "  holy  estate,"  but  was  still  the  center  of  a  hap- 
pv  home  circle,  in  Whitesboro',  New  York.  That  she  had 
never  before  written  for  publication,  and  was  so  sensitively 
modest,  and  indeed  unaware  of  her  remarkable  talent  as  a 
humorist,  that  she  was  quite  willing  to  cease  then  an<i  there 
I* 


X  INTRODUCTORY. 

the  history  of  the  Widow's  adventures.  Mr,  Neal's  reply 
to  this  despondent  mood,  was  perhaps  decisive  as  regards 
the  continuation  of  the  series,  and  we  quote  it  as  preserved 
among  her  papers.  It  has  the  more  value  as  being  the 
unsolicited  opinion  of  a  practical  critic  who  possessed  the 
keenest  natural  sense  of  humor: 

"PHILADELPHIA,  September  10th,  1846. 
"  MY  DEAR  CORRESPONDENT  BEDOTT  : 

"  Your  last  contributions  have  been  received,  and  are 
truly  welcome.  The  "Gazette"  is  again  deeply  your  debtor ; 
for  your  aid  has  been  indeed  truly  valuable  to  "Neal." 
But  1  regret  to  find  that  Duberly  Doubtington  has  cast  a 
"  glamour  "  over  you  about  continuing  in  the  comic  vein,  just 
at  the  moment  too,  when  all  the  world  is  full  of  Bedott. 
Our  readers  talk  of  nothing  else,  and  almost  despise  "  Neal " 
if  the  Widow  be  not  there.  An  excellent  critic  in  these 
matters,  said  to  me  the  other  day,  that  he  regarded  them  as 
the  best  Yankee  papers  yet  written,  and  such  is  indeed  the 
general  sentiment.  I  know  for  instance,  of  a  lady  who  for 
several  days  after  reading  one  of  them,  was  continually, 
and  often,  at  moments  -the  most  inopportune,  bursting 
forth  into  fits  of  violent  laughter,  and  believe  me  that  you, 
gifted  with  such  powers,  ought  not  to  speak  disparagingly 
of  the  gift  which  thus  brings  wholesome  satire  home  to 
every  reader.  It  is  a  theory  of  mine  that  those  gifted  with 
truly  humorous  genius,  like  yourself,  are  more  useful  as  moral- 
ists, philosophers,  and  teachers,  than  whole  legions  of  the 
gravest  preachers.  They  speak  more  effectually  to  the  general 
ear  and  heart  even  though  they  who  hear  are  not  aware  of 
the  fact  that  they  are  imbibing  wisdom. 

"  To  be  sure,  if  you  have  more  imperative  duties,  I  should 
be  the  last  to  wish  that  you  should  neglect  them ;  but  it 


INTRODUCTORY.  XJ 

your  hesitations  arise  from  other  scruples,  it  appears  to  me 
that  if  you  were  to  weigh  them  well  they  may  be  found 
mere  intangibilities.  But  of  all  this  you,  of  course,  must 
De  the  judge,  and  any  interference  on  my  port  would  be  in 
trusive  and  impertinent. 

"  But  I  would  add  that  Mr.  Godey  called  on  mt,  to  inquire 
as  to  the  authorship  of  the  "  Bedott  Papers"  wishing  evi- 
dently to  obtain  you  for  a  correspondent  to  the  "  Lady's 
Book'."  I  declined  giving  him  the  name,  etc.,  until  I  had 
consulted  you,  checking  the  selfish  impulse  that  would  ha^e 
denied  him,  that  "  Neal"  might  monopolize  a  correspond- 
ent so  valued  as  "  Frank."  Would  you  like  to  hear  from 
him  on  the  subject  ? 

"  Think  on  it  then  before  yielding  up  the  pen  of  comedy, 
but  in  any  event,  whether  you  conclude  to  be  either  serious 
or  comic, 

"  Believe  me  ever  yours, 

"JOSEPH  C.  NEAL.". 

The  result  of  Mr.  Godey 's  negotiations  will  be  found  in 
"  Aunt  Maguire's  Experience" — Aunt  Maguire,  being  cer- 
tainly worthy  of  her  distinguished  relationship.* 

The  New  Year  found  Miriam  Berry  a  bride,  and  separated 
from  the  cherished  and  cherishing  home  circle,  with  new 
duties  and  responsibilities  as  the  wife  of  a  clergyman. 
Yet  to  quote  from  a  charming  memorial  from  the  pen  of 
an  almost  equally  gifted  sister,  "  Her  sketches  even  under 
these  circumstances,  require  neither  vindication  nor  apology. 
They  were  never  condemned  by  any  except  those  who  felt 

*  We  may  here  add  that,  as  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Neal,  the  friendly  interesl 
of  the  courteous  editor  of  the  "  Lady's  Book"  deepened  from  that  Mmo, 
and  it  is  with  his  warmest  approval  and  predictions  of  succesp  that  the 
volume  containing  both  series,  is  cow  issued. 


xii  INTEODUCTOBT. 

the  sting  of  her  satire  pricking  against  their  vices.  Tho 
good  sense  of  the  entire  reading  public  gave  them  praise 
and  their  popularity  was  abundantly  shown  in  the  eagerness 
with  which  the  country  press  copied  them  from  the  Phila- 
delphia papers.  Her  humor  was  chaste  and  original,  so 
true  to  nature  that  the  most  ignorant  reader  could  not  fail 
to  feel  its  force,  and  the  most  refined  could  discover  nothing 
that  would  shock  the  keenest  sensibility.  From  the  time 
of  Horace  to  the  present,  it  has  al\v  ays  been  thought  proper 
and  often  profitable,  to  ( speak  the  truth  laughing.'  And 
the  best  moralists  have  acknowleged  that  laughter,  when 
aimed  at  folly,  was  a  salutary  means  of  improvement,  and 
a  great  aid  to  virtue.  Indeed  we  have  the  precedent  of  In* 
spiration  itself,  to  use  the  most  pointed  satire  in  our  at- 
tempts to  promote  the  welfare  of  our  fellows.  And  this 
was  her  only  aim ;  for,  whether  she  depicted  the  verbosity 
of  the  self-sufficient  preacher,  or  portrayed  the  vulgar  co- 
queteries  of  the  inconsolable  widow — whether  she  held  up 
to  view  the  would-be  literary  circle,  or  narrated  the  gossip 
of  the  sewing-society,  her  only  object  was 

"  'the  gift  to  gie  'em 
To  see  themsels  as  others  see  'em  1 
Which  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  'em, 
An'  foolish  notion.' " 

Such,  then,  was  the  origin  of  the  "  Bedott  Papers,"  their 
characteristics  and  their  aim.  By  the  early  death  of  their 
wonderfully  gifted  author,  they  have  become  a  literary 
heritage  to  her  family,  and  the  publication  has  been  decided 
upon  by  them,  after  repeated  solicitations  from  both 


UCTOR  Y.  xiii 

strangers  and  friends,  who  were  anxious  to  have  in  a  col- 
lected and  accessible  form  articles  they  had  enjoyed  so  much 
as  fugitive  sketches.  For  ourselves,  we  have  never  had  but 
one  opinion.  We  remember,  as  if  had  been  but  yesterday 
the  mirth-mo''ed  family  circle  that  listened  to  the  reading 
of  the  first  of  the  series  with  almost  convulsive  laughter ; 
and  from  that  time  until  we  corrected  the  proof-sheets  of 
the  last,  considered  them  among  the  cleverest,  as  they  cer 
tainly  were  the  most  popular  of  any  humorous  articles  by 
an  American  author. 

Though  among  Mrs.  W 's*  warmest  personal  friends, 

we  never  had  the  often  desired  pleasure  of  meeting  her  face  to 
face.  Yet  it  is  through  a  correspondence  bequeathed  to  us, 
as  the  successor  to  Mr.  Neal's  editorial  engagements,  and 
some  of  his  most  genial  friendships,  that  the  sister  before 
alluded  to,  gathered  much  of  the  material  for  a  sketch  of  her 
life  and  character. 

Never  was  there  a  more  remarkable  contrast  presented, 
and  we  quote  her  own  words,  for  the  causes  operating  to 
produce  it. 

"Your  last  kind  letter  was  very  gratifying.  The  acquisi- 
tion of  a  new  friend  is  a  source  of  great  pleasure  to  me ;  foi 
I  assure  you  that  it  has  never  been  my  lot  to  have  many 
friends.  And  I  will  tell  you  what  I  believe  to  be  the  secret 
of  it :  I  received  at  my  birth,  the  undesirable  gift  of  a  re- 
markably  strong  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  I  can  scarcely 
remember  the  time  when  the  neighbors  were  not  afraid  that 

*  Miss  Berry  was  subsequently  married  to  Ttev,  B.  W.  "Whiahor,  of 
Whitesboro',  N.  Y. 


HIV  INTRODUCTORY. 

I  would  l  mate  fun  of  them.'  For  indulging  in  thispropen 
sity,  I  was  scolded  at  home,  and  wept  over  and  prayed  with, 
by  certain  well-meaning  old  maids  in  the  neighborhood ;  but 
all  to  no  purpose.  The  only  reward  of  their  labors  was 
frequently  their  likenesses  drawn  in  charcoal  and  pinned  to 
the  corners  of  their  shawls,  with,  perhaps,  a  descriptive 
verse  below.  Of  course  I  had  not  many  friends,  even 
among  my  own  playmates.  And  yet,  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this  deviltry,  there  was  a  warm,  affectionate  heart — if  any 
were  really  kind  to  me,  how  I  loved  them ! 

"I  think  now,  that  I  was  not  properly  trained.  My 
errors  should  have  been  checked  in  a  different  way  from 
that  which  was  adopted.  I  ought  to  have  received  more 
tender  treatment.  I  became  a  lonely  child,  almost  without 
companionship ;  wandering  alone,  for  hours,  in  the  woods 
and  fields,  creating  for  myself  an  ideal  world,  and  in  that 
ideal  world  I  lived  for  many  years.  At  times  I  was  melan- 
choly almost  to  despair.  My  reserve  and  sadness  were 
called  haughtiness  and  pride.  When  the  best  part  of  my 
life,  or  rather  what  should  have  been  the  best  part  of  it, 
was  gone,  I  met  my  husband.  He  was  the  first  who  pene 
trated  the  icy  vail  about  me,  sympathized  with  me,  and 
turned  my  feet  into  a  better  path  than  they  had  trodden 
before" 

A  modest,  humble-hearted  Christian  woman  "  at  the  bot 
torn  of  all  this,"  as  she  says,  she  remained  until  her  pen 
was  laid  aside  for  the  last  time,  and  she  passed  to  a  home 
where  all  doubt  and  misunderstanding  are  denied  an  en- 
trance. 


INTRODUCTORY.  XV 

* 

"  How  she  looked,  spoke  and  moved,"  those  who  read 
these  sketches  will  doubtless  ask,  as  did  we,  at  an  early 
period  of  the  correspondence.  It  was  met  by  her  with  a 
playful  rhymed  response,  of  which  we  can  recall  but  a  frag 
ment,  declaring  she  had 

"  Hands  and  feet 

Of  respectable  size, 
Mud-colored  hair, 
And  dubious  eyes." 

To  the  last,  she  evaded  any  thing  like  the  self-portraiture  so 
common  among  a  certain  class  of  female  writers,  who  are  as 
willing  to  give  their  faces  as  their  sketches  to  the  public. 

Since  this  would  still  seem  to  be  the  feeling  of  those  most 
easily  interested,  we  pass  to  the  peculiar  artistic  cleverness 
of  the  original  illustrations,  which  usually  accompanied  her 
"  Table  Talks."  They  were  done  as  rapidly  as  her  pencil 
could  move,  a  few  strokes  "  telling  the  whole  story."  Of 
the  rise  and  progress  of  this  remarkable  talent,  we  have 
some  characteristic  anecdotes  in  Miss  Berry's  sketch  of  her 
sister's  childhood. 

"  Her  school  education  was  more  varied  than  beneficial. 
Her  first  teacher  was  a  sour-faced  woman,  who  knocked  the 
alphabet  with  her  thimble  into  the  heads  of  a  little  group  of 
unruly  children,  at  so  much  'a  quarter,'  with  small  love, 
and  no  just  appreciation  of  the  dawning  minds  under  her 
care.  It  was  the  unwise  and  cruel  practice,  then  more  gen 
orally  than  at  present,  though  still  not  quite  exploded,  of 
sending  little  creatures,  only  four  or  five  years  old;  to  be 
shut  up  in  a  school-room  six  hours  of  each  day. 


SVi  INTKODUCTOBY. 

"  But  there  was  one  good  custom  then,  which,  where  OUT 
limited  observation  extends,  seems  to  be  quite  unthought  of, 
if  not  despised,  in  the  present  girls'  schools — that  of  teach- 
ing  the  pupils  to  sew.  The  object  now  appears  to  be  to  in- 
struct them  most  in  what  they  shall  least  need  to  know 
afterward.  Well,  little  Miriam  was  told  by  her  teacher  to 
bring  some  kind  of  work  to  busy  herself  with  in  school ; 
so,  being  furnished  with  a  long  narrow  strip  of  old  muslin, 
she  went  prepared  to  take  her  first  lesson  in  the  art  of 
"  scolloping."  How  steadily  the  small  hands  stitched  away, 
till  the  child  was  summoned  by  her  serious-faced  teacher  to 
the  table,  to  have  her  work  inspected.  What  was  Miss 

's  amazement  on  discovering  that  Miriam  had  adhered 

but  a  very  little  way  to  her  pattern,  when,  leaving  it  entire- 
ly, she  had  worked  a  long  row  of  heads  on  the  muslin,  after 
a  stitch  of  her  own  choosing. 

"  '  What  a  pity,'  said  the  careful  woman  who  spoke  with 
a  strong  nasal  accent,  '  to  waste  all  that  'ere  nice  muslin ! 
Jest  take  it  home,  and  fetch  some  old  stuff  to-morrow ;  and 
work  it  good,  too.  Don't  make  any  more  of  them  heads.' 

"  But  Miriam  Cad  a  piece  of  bran-new  muslin  given  to  hei 
at  home,  when  she  repeated  her  teacher's  orders,  with  the 
permission  to  make  as  many  heads  on  it  as  she  pleased. 
Whether  this  act  of  high-handed  rebellion  was  continued,  we 
know  not ;  for,  in  telling  the  story,  as  we  have  heard  her  do 
with  many  amusing  accessories,  she  proceeded  no  further 
This  little  incident,  it  would  seem,  was  the  most  deeply  im 
pressed  upon  her  memory  of  any  thing  connected  with  hei 
5xst  school-teacher. 


INTRODUCTORY.  XVJU 

"  A  second  time  was  little  Miriam  introduced  within  the 
walls  of  the  academy,  but  under  a  new  and  quite  different 
dynasty.  The  principal  was  the  kindest  hearted  and  most 
indulgent  of  pedagogues,  well  skilled  in  mathematics  and 
learned  in  all  classic  lore ;  greatly  successful,  moreover,  in 
'  fitting  young  men  for  college,'  as  the  phrase  goes.  But 
the  younger  fry  were  left  to  take  care  of  themselves,  or  at 
most  received  a  kind  of  desultory  instruction  from  some 
older  pupil,  while  their  misbehavior  was  kindly  overlooked 
by  the  classical  master.  Lightly  passed  her  school-daya 
now,  but  her  education,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  was 
advancing.  Within  the  school-house  walls,  the  child's  al- 
ready observant  mind  and  keen  perception  of  the  ludicrous 
found  occupation  and  food  in  watching  the  countenances  and 
conduct  of  those  who  surrounded  her ;  while  her  lonely 
rambles  abroad  taught  her  much  that  your  thorough-faced 
pedagogue  utterly  ignores. 

"  Her  slate  did  not  always  present  the  sums  in  addition 
duly  set,  which  it  ought.  The  stiff,  tallowed  locks  and  long- 
nosed  visages  of  the  serious  matter-of-fact  young  men,  in- 
tently poring  over  their  Virgils  and  Latin  grammars,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  were  oftener  transferred  by 
her  pencil  to  its  surface.  She  could  no  more  keep  from 
drawing  a  striking  or  peculiar  set  of  features,  than  she  could 
stop  her  heart's  beating ;  but  she  had  no  thought  of  giving 
pain,  and  was  unwilling  to  have  her  pictures  seen.  Some- 
times a  mischievous  companion,  possessing  herself  of  one, 
would  display  it.  If  the  unfortunate  subject  had  the  happy 
(acuity  of  taking  a  joke,  ho  passed  it  off  with  a  laugh.  But 


XV111  INTRODUCTORY. 

a  matter-of-fact,  shy,  sensitive  youth  regarded  Miriam  after- 
ward with  insuperable  dread.  We  well  remember  one 
who,  finding  himself  graphically  set  forth  with  the  quiet 
imaginary  addition  of  a  parasol  over  his  head,  and  bows, 
with  floating  ends  on  his  coat  skirts,  left  school  in  dismay 
and  did  not  again  attend. 

"  Her  copy-book  presented  an  appearance  very  unlike 
those  of  her  school-mates.  She  followed  no  formally  set 
copy,  but  wrote  little  poems  which  had  struck  her  fancy  in 
reading,  interspersed  with  an  occasional  verse  of  her  own, 
the  margins  being  adorned  with  heads  and  various  devices, 
something  after  the  ancient  fashion,  modernly  revived,  ot 
embellishing  books. 

"  In  the  art  of  drawing  she  never  had  a  master,  the  only 
instruction  she  received  being  a  few  hints  from  a  relative 
gifted  with  a  like  talent.  The  itinerant  professors  of  paint 
ing  and  kindred  accomplishments  who  stopped  at  times,  in 
her  native  village,  were  incapable  of  improving  such  an  en- 
dowment as  hers.  Their  chefs-d'ceuvres  on  velvet,  their  red 
and  green  birds,  and  extraordinary  '  flower-pieces '  done  by 
theorems,  their  impossible  Scripture  scenes,  gave  her  infinite 
amusement.  She  should  have  studied  with  a  true  artist, 
but  no  such  opportunity  presented  itself — a  subject  of  deep 
regret  to  her  in  after  years,  as  therein  she  believed  the 
proper  development  of  her  powers  could  have  been  found." 

Such  was  the  erratic  training  and  chance  development  of 
rare — indeed  almost  unprecedented — original  talent ;  for 
what  humorist  has  ever  so  clearly  illustrated  his  own 
sketches  of  life  and  character.  The  very  expression  of  the 


INTRODUCTORY.  six 

Widow's  nose  and  the  Elder's  spectacles,  are  a  promise  to 
the  mirth-loving  reader  of  good  things  at  hand ;  and  we 
leave  them  with  the  assurance  that  the  promise  will  more 
than  be  fulfilled. 

A.B.  N. 


WIDOW   BEDOTT   PAPERS, 


TTB  was  a  wonderful  hand  to  moralize,  husband 
was,  'specially  after  lie  begun  to  enjoy  poor 
health.  He  made  an  observation  once  when  he  was 
in  one  of  his  poor  turns,  that  I  never  shall  forget  the 
longest  day  I  live.  He  says  to  me  one  winter  evenin7 
as  we  was  a  settin'  by  the  fire,  I  was  a  knittin'  (I  was 
always  a  wonderful  great  knitter)  and  he  was  a 
smoMn'  (he  was  a  master  hand  to  smoke,  though  the 
doctor  used  to  tell  him  he  'd  be  better  off  to  let 
tobacker  alone ;  when  he  was  well,  used  to  take  his 
pipe  and  smoke  a  spell  after  he  'd  got  the  chores  done 
up,  and  when  he  wa'n't  well,  used  to  smoke  the  big- 
gest part  o'  the  time).  "Well,  he  took  his  pipe  out  of 
his  mouth  and  turned  toward  me,  and  Iknowed  some- 
thing was  comin',  for  he  had  a  pertikkeler  way  of 
lookin'  round  when  he  was  gwine  to  say  any  thing 
oncommon.  "Well,  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  "  Silly," 


22        WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

(my  name  was  Prissilly  naterally,  but  lie  ginerally 
called  me  "  Silly,"  cause  'twas  handier,  you  know.) 
Well,  lie  says  to  me,  says  he,  "  Silly,"  and  he  looked 
pretty  sollem,  I  tell  you,  he  had  a  sollem  countenance 
naterally — and  after  he  got  to  be  deacon  'twas  more 
so,  but  since  he  'd  lost  his  health  he  looked  sollemer 
than  ever,  and  certingly  you  wouldent  wonder  at  it  if 
you  knowed  how  much  he  underwent.  He  was 
troubled  with  a  wonderful  pain  in  his  chest,  and 
amazin'  weakness  in  the  spine  of  his  back,  besides  the 
pleurissy  in  the  side,  and  having  the  ager  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  time,  and  bein'  broke  of  his  rest 
o'  nights  'cause  he  was  so  put  to  't  for  breath  when  he 
laid  down.  Why  its  an  onaccountable  fact  that  when 
that  man  died  he  hadent  seen  a  well  day  in  fifteen 
year,  though  when  he  was  married  and  for  five  or  six 
year  after  I  shouldent  desire  to  see  a  ruggeder  men 
than  what  he  was.  But  the  time  I  'm  speakin'  of  he'd 
been  out  o'  health  nigh  upon  ten  year,  and  0  dear 
sakes !  how  he  had  altered  since  the  first  time  I  even 
see  him !  That  was  to  a  quiltin'  to  Squire  Smith's  a 
spell  afore  Sally  was  married.  I  'd  D  o  idee  then  that  Sal 
Smith  was  a  gwine  to  be  married  to  Sam  Pendergrass. 
Se  'd  ben  keepin'  company  with  Mose  Hewlitt,  for 
better  'n  a  year,  and  every  body  said  that  was  a  settled 
thing,  and  lo  and  behold!  all  of  a  sudding  she  up 
and  took  Sam  Pendergrass.  Well,  that  was  tho 
first  time  I  ever  see  my  husband,  and  if  any  body  'd 


HEZEKIAH    BEDOTT.  23 

a  told  me  then  that  I  should  ever  many  him, 
I  should  a  said — but  lawful  sakes !  I  most  forgot,  I 
was  gwine  to  tell  you  what  he  said  to  me  that  evenin', 
and  when  a  body  begins  to  tell  a  thing  I  believe  in 
finishin'  on 't  some  time  or  other.  Some  folks  have  a 
way  of  talkin'  round  and  round  and  round  for  ever- 
more, and  never  comin'  to  the  pint.  Now  there's 
Miss  Jinkins,  she  that  was  Poll  Bingham  afoie  she  was 
married,  she  is  the  tejusest  individooal  to  tell  a  story 
tha*  ever  I  see  in  all  my  born  days.  But  I  was  a 
gwine  to  tell  you  what  husband  said.  He  says  to  me 
says  he,  "Silly,"  says  I,  "What?"  I  dident  say 
"  What,  Eezekier?"  for  1  dident  like  his  name.  The 
first  time  I  ever  heard  it  I  near  killed  myself  a  laffin. 
"  Hezekier  Bedott,"  says  I,  "  well,  I  would  give  up  if 
I  had  sich  a  name,"  but  then  you  know  I  had  no  more 
idee  o'  marryin'  the  feller  than  you  have  this  minnit 
o'  marryin'  the  governor.  I  s'pose  you  think  it 's 
curus  we  should  a  named  our  oldest  son  Hezekier. 
Well,  we  done  it  to  please  father  ,and  mother  Bedott, 
it 's  father  Bedott's  name,  and  he  and  mother  Bedott 
both  used  to  think  that  names  had  ought  to  go  down 
from  gineration  to  gineration.  But  we  always  called 
him  Kier,  you  know.  Speakin'  o'  Kier,  he  is  a  bless- 
in',  ain't  he  ?  and  I  ain't  the  only  one  that  thinks  so, 
I  guess.  Now  don't  you  never  tell  nobody  that  I  said 
so,  but  between  you  and  me  I  rather  guess  that  if 
Kezier  Winkle  thinks  she  is  a  gwine  to  ketch  Kier 


24  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

Bedott  she  is  a  leetle  out  of  her  reckonin'.  But  I  was 
going  to  tell  what  husband  said.  He  says  to  me,  says 
he,  "  Silly,"  I  says,  says  I,  "  What?"  If  I  dident  say 
"  what"  when  he  said  "  Silly,"  he  'd  a  kept  on  saying 
"  Silly,"  from  time  to  eternity.  He  always  did,  be- 
cause, you  know,  he  wanted  me  to  pay  pertikkeler 
attention,  and  I  ginerally  did ;  no  woman  was  ever 
more  attentive  to  her  husband  than  what  I  was. 
Well,  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  "  Silly."  Says  I, 
"  What  ?"  though  I  'd  no  idee  what  he  was  gwine  to 
say,  dident  know  but  what  'twas  something  about  his 
sufferings,  though  he  wasn't  apt  to  complain,  but  he 
frequently  used  to  remark  that  he  wouldent  wish  his 
worst  enemy  to  suffer  one  minnit  as  he  did  all  the 
rime,  but  that  can't  be  called  grumblin' — think  it  can  ? 
Why,  I  've  seen  him  in  sitivations  when  you  'd  a 
thought  no  mortal  could  a  helped  grumbling  but  lie 
dident.  He  and  me  went  once  in  the  dead  o'  winter 
in  a  one  hoss  slay  out  to  Boonville  to  see  a  sister  o' 
hisen.  You  know  the  snow  is  amazin'  deep  in  that 
section  o'  the  kentry.  Well,  the  hoss  got  stuck  in 
one  o'  them  are  flambergasted  snow-banks,  and  there 
we  sot,  enable  to  stir,  and  to  cap  all,  while  we  was  a 
sittin'  there,  husband  was  took  with  a  dretful  crick  in 
his  back.  Now  that  was  what  I  call  a  perdickerment, 
don't  you  ?  Most  men  would  a  swore,  but  husband 
dident  He  only  said,  says  he,  "  Consarn  it."  How 
did  we  get  out,  did  you  ask  ?  Why  we  might  a  been 


HEZBKIAH    BEDOTT.  25 

sittin'  there  to  this  day  for  as  /know,  if  there  hadent 
a  happened  to  come  along  a  mess  o'  men  in  a  double 
team  and  they  hysted  us  out.  But  I  was  gwine  to 
tell  you  that  observation  o*  hisen.  Says  he  to  me, 
says  he,  "  Silly,"  (I  could  see  by  the  light  o'  the  fire, 
there  dident  happen  to  be  no  candle  burnin',  if  I  don't 
disremember,  though  my  memory  is  sometimes  rather 
forgitful,  but  I  know  we  wa'n't  apt  to  burn  candles 
exceptin'  when  we  had  company)  I  could  see  by  the 
light  of  the  fire  that  his  mind  was  oncommon  solemn- 
ized. Says  he  to  me,  says  he,  "Silly."  I  says  to 
him,  says  I,  "What?"  He  says  to  me,  says  hey 
"  We  're  all  poor  critters  /" 

2 


II. 


"V7"ES — he  was  one  o'  the  best  men  that  ever  trod 
shoe-leather  husband  was,  though  Miss  Jinkins 
Bays  (she  'twas  Poll  Bingham)  she  says,  I  never  found 
it  out  till  after  he  died,  but  that 's  the  consarndest  lie 
that  ever  was  told,  though  it's  jest  of  a  piece  with 
every  thing  else  she  says  about  me.  I  guess  if  every 
body  could  see  the  poitry  I  writ  to  his  memory,  no- 
body wouldent  think  I  dident  set  store  by  him. 
Want  to  hear  it?  Well,  I'  11  see  if  I  can  say  it;  it 
ginerally  affects  me  wonderfully,  seems  to  harrer  up 
my  feelins ;  but  1'  11  try.  Dident  know  I  ever  writ 
poetry?  how  you  talk!  used  to  make  lots  on  't;  haint 
so  much  late  years.  I  remember  once  when  Parson 
Potter  had  a  bee,  I  sent  him  an  amazin'  great  cheese, 
and  writ  a  piece  o'  poitry  and  pasted  on  top  on 't. 
It  says : 

Teach  him  for  to  proclaim 

Salvation  to  the  folks, 
No  occcasion  give  for  any  blame 

Nor  wicked  people's  jokea. 

And  so  it  goes  on,  but  I  guess  I  won't  stop  to  say  the 
rest  on 't  now,  seem'  there 's  seven  and  forty  verses. 


THE    WIDOW    ESSAYS    POETRY.  27 

Parson  Potter  and  his  wife  was  wonderfully  pleased 
with  it,  used  to  sing  it  to  the  tune  o'  Haddem.  But  I 
was  gwine  to  tell  the  ono  I  made  in  relation  to  hus- 
band, it  begins  as  Toilers : 

He  never  jawed  in  all  his  life, 

He  never  was  onMiid — 
And  (tho'  I  say  it  thai  was  his  wife) 

Such  men  you  seldom  find. 

(That 's  as  true  as  the  Scripturs,  I  never  knowed  him 
to  say  a  harsh  word.) 

1  never  changed  my  single  lot— 
I  thought 't  would  be  a  sin — . 

(though  widder  Jinkins  says  it 's  because  I  never  had 
a  chance.)  Now  't  ain't  for  me  to  say  whether  I  ever 
had  a  numerous  number  o'  chances  or  not,  but  there 's 
them  livin'  that  might  tell  if  they  was  a  mind  to ; 
why,  this  poitry  was  writ  on  account  of  being  joked 
about  Major  Coon,  three  year  after  husband  died.  I 
guess  the  ginerality  o'  folks  knows  what  was  the 
nature  o'  Major  Coon's  feelins  toward  me,  tho'  his 
wife  and  Miss  Jinkins  does  say  I  tried  to  ketch  him. 
The  fact  is,  Miss  Coon  feels  wonderfully  cut  up  'cause 
she  knows  the  Major  took  her  "  Jack  at  a  pinch" — 
seein'  he  couldent  get  such  as  he  wanted,  he  took  such 
as  he  could  get — but  I  goes  on  to  say —  „ 

I  never  changed  my  single  lot — 

I  thought  'twould  be  a  sin— 
For  I  thought  so  much  o'  Deacon  Bedott 

I  never  got  married  agin. 


WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS, 

If  ever  a  hasty  word  he  spoke 

His  anger  dident  last, 
But  vanished  like  tobacker  smoko 

Afore  the  wint'ry  blast. 

And  since  it  was  my  lot  to  be 
The  wife  of  such  a  man, 

I  tell  the  men  that's  after  me 
To  ketch  me  if  they  can. 

If  I  was  sick  a  single  jot 
He  called  the  doctor  in — 


That 's  a  fact — lie  used  to  be  scairt  to  death  if  any  thing 
ailed  me,  now  only  jest  think — widder  Jinkins  told 
Sam  Pendergrasses  wife  (she  't  was  Sally  Smith)  that 
she  guessed  the  deacon  dident  set  no  great  store  by 
me,  or  he  wouldent  a  went  off  to  confrence  meetin' 
when  I  was  down  with  the  fever.  The  truth  is,  they 
couldent  git  along  without  him  no  way.  Parson  Pot- 
ter seldom  went  to  confrence  meetin',  and  when  he 
wa'n't  there,  who  was  ther,  pray  tell,  that  knowed 
enough  to  take  the  lead  if  husband  dident  do  it? 
Deacon  Kenipe  hadent  no  gift,  and  Deacon  Crosby 
hadent  no  inclination,  and  so  ic  all  come  on  to  Deacon 
Bedott — and  he  was  always  ready  and  willin'  to  do 
his  duty,  you  know ;  as  long  as  he  was  able  to  stand 
on  his  legs  he  continued  to  go  to  confrence  meetin ; 
why,  I  Ve  knowed  that  man  to  go  when  he  couldent 
scarcely  crawl  on  account  o'  the  pain  in  the  spine  of 
his  back.  He  had  a  wonderful  gift,  and  he  wa'n't  a 
man  to  keep  his  talents  hid  up  in  a  napkin — so  you 
Bee  't  was  from  a  sense  o'  duty  he  went  when  I  was 


THE    WIDOW    ESSAYS    POETRY.  29 

rick,  whatever  Miss  Jinking  may  say  to  the  contrary 
But  where  was  I?  0— 

If  I  was  sick*  single  jot 

He  called  the  doctor  in— 
I  sot  BO  much  store  by  Deacon  Bedott 

I  never  got  married  agin. 

A  wonderful  tender  heart  he  had 

That  felt  for  all  mankind- 
It  made  him  feel  amaziu'  bad 

To  see  the  world  so  blind. 

Whiskey  and  rum  he  tasted  not — 

That 's  as  true  as  the  Scripturs — but  if  you  '11  believe 
it,  Betsy,  Ann  Kenipe  told  my  Melissy  that  Miss  Jin- 
kins  said  one  day  to  their  house  how 't  she  'd  seen 
Deacon  Bedott  high,  time  and  agin !  did  you  ever ! 
Well,  I  'm  glad  nobody  don't  pretend  to  mind  any 
thing  she  says.  I  've  knowed  Poll  Bingham  from  a 
gal,  and  she  never  knowed  how  to  speak  the  truth — 
besides  she  always  had  a  pertikkeler  spite  against  hus- 
band and  me,  and  between  us  tew,  I  '11  tell  you  why 
if  you  won't  mention  it,  for"  I  make  it  a  pint  never  to 
say  nothin'  to  injure  nobody.  Well,  she  was  a  ravin- 
distracted  after  my  husband  herself,  but  it 's  a  long, 
story,  I  '11  tell  you  about  it  some  other  time,  and  then 
you  '11  know  why  widder  Jinkins  is  etarnally  runnin' 
me  down.  See— where  had  I  got  to?  O,  I  remem- 
ber QOW — 

Whiskey  and  rum  he  tasted  not — 

He  thought  it  was  a  sin — 
1  thought  so  much  o'  Deacon  Bedott 

I  never  got  married  agin. 


80        WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

But  now  be 's  dead  !  the  thought  is  killia' 

My  grief  I  can't  control — 
Ho  never  left  a.  single  shillin 

His  widder  to  console. 

But  that  waVt  his  fault — he  was  so  out  o'  health  for 
a  number  o'  year  afore  he  died,  it  ain't  to  be  wondered 
at  he  dident  lay  up  nothin' — however  it  dident  give 
him  no  great  oneasiness — he  never  cared  much  for 
airthly  riches,  though  Miss  Pendergrass  says  she  heard 
Miss  Jinkins  say  Deacon  Bedott  was  as  tight  as  the 
skin  on  his  back — begrudged  folks  their  vittals  when 
they  came  to  his  house !  did  you  ever !  why  he  was 
the  hull-souldest  man  I  ever  see  in  all  my  born  days. 
If  I  'd  such  a  husband  as  Bill  Jinkins  was  I  'd  hold 
my  tongue  about  my  neighbors'  husbands.  B>  was  a 
dretful  mean  man,  used  to  git  drunk  every  day  of  his 
life — and  he  had  an  awful  high  temper — used  to 
swear  like  all  possest  when  he  got  mad — and  I  've 
heard  my  husband  say — (and  he  wa'n't  a  man  that 
ever  said  any  thing  that  w^a'n't  true) — I  've  heard  him 
say  Bill  Jiukins  would  cheat  his  own  father  out  of  his 
eye  teeth  if  he  had  a  chance.  Where  was  I?  Ol 
"His  widder  to  console" — ther  ain't  but  one  more 
verse,  't  ain't  a  very  lengthy  poim.  When  Parson 
Potter  read  it,  he  says  to  me,  says  he — "  What  did 
you  stop  so  soon  for?" — but  Miss  Jinkins  told  tho 
Crosby's  she  thought  I  'd  better  a  stopt  afore  I  'd  begun 
— she 's  a  purty  critter  to  talk  so,  I  must  say.  I  'd 
like  to  see  some  poitry  o'  hern — I  guess  it  would  be 


THE    WIDOW    ESSAYS    POETRY.  31 

BStonishin'  stuff;  and  mor  'n  all  that,  she  said  there 
wa'n't  a  word  o'  truth  in  the  hull  on 't — said  I  never 
cared  tuppence  for  the  deacon.  What  an  everlastin' 
lie  I !  Why — when  he  died.  I  took  it  so  hard  I  went 
deranged,  and  took  on  so  for  a  spell  they  was  afraid 
they  should  have  to  send  me  to  a  Lunattic  ArsenaL 
But  that 's  a  painful  subject,  I  won't  dwell  on 't.  I 
conclude  as  follows :  / 

I  '11  never  change  my  single  lot— 

I  think  't  would  be  a  sin — 
The  inconsolable  widder  o'  Deacon  Bedott, 

Don't  intend  to  get  married  agin. 

Excuse  my  cryin' — my  feelins  always  overcomes  me 
so  when  I  say  that  poitry — O-o-o-o-o-o  1 


m. 

§nim0siti« 


f~\  YES  I  remember  I  promised  to  tell  you  the 
cause  o'  widder  Jinkinses  ennimosity  to  me  — 
Molissy,  pass  the  bread  —  well,  you  see,  Deacon  Bedott 
(he  wa'n't  deacon  then  though)  he  come  —  help  yerself 
to  butter,  dew  —  he  come  to  Wiggletown  to  teach  the 
deestrict  school.  He  was  origginally  from  the  Black 
River  kentry.  His  father  was  a  forehanded  farmer, 
and  he  'd  give  Hezekier  a  complete  ^ddication  —  he 
took  to  larnin'  naterally.  Is  your  tea  agreeable  ?  I 
s'pose  ther  wa'n't  his  equil  for  cypherin'  no  wher 
round.  Well,  Squire  Smith  he  was  out  in  them  parts, 
and  he  got  acquainted  with  Hezekier,  and  he  see  that 
he  was  an  oncommon  capable  young  man,  and  so  he 
conduced  him  to  come  to  Wiggletown  and  teach  school. 
Kier,  pass  the  cheeze  to  Miss  Piggins.  Don't  never 
eat  cheese  1  dew  tell  I  well,  husband  couldent  eat  cheeze 
without  impunity  durin'  the  last  years  of  his  life  — 
used  to  say  that  It  lay  like  a  stun  on  his  stomick  ;  as 
sure  as  he  eat  a  piece  o'  cheeze  for  his  supper,  he  'd 
'.ay  awake  groanin'  all  night,  if  he  dident  take  some 


WIDOW  JENKINS'  ANIMOSITY.        33 

kind  of  an  antigote  to  pervent  it.  But  I  was  gwine 
to  tell — "Well,  the  day  after  lie  come  to  our  place, 
Squire  Smith's  folks  had  a  quiltin' — I  was  there — 
't  wa'n't  long  afore  Sally  was  married  (she  'tis  Sam 
Pendergrasses  wife) — she  was  a  makin'  her  quilts — 
though  'twas  ginerally  thought  she  was  engaged  to 
Mose  Hewlet,  and  as  to  that  matter,  it 's  my  opinion 
she  might  better  a  had  him  than  the  one  she  did  have. 
I  never  thought  Sam  Pendergrass  was  much — none 
o'  the  Pendergrasses  ain't  no  great  shakes,  though 
he 's  good  enough  for  Sal  Smith.  Melissy,  why  don't 
you  sarve  out  the  sass  ?  That  sass  ain't  fust-rate — 
you  see,  while  'twas  a  dewin'  Loviney  Skinner,  she 
come  in  with  that  are  subscription  paper,  to  git  up  a 
society  for  "  the  univarsal  diffusion  of  elevation  among 
the  colored  poperlation,"  and  while  I  was  lookin'  at  it 
to  Bee  who  'd  signed  and  how  much  they  gi'n,  the  sass 
got  overdid.  But  I  was  gwiue  to  tell  about  that 
CLniltin'.  Ther  was  a  number  o'  young  folks  there — 
see — there  was  Prissilly  Poole  (that 's  me),  Poll  Bing- 
ham  (Bill  Jinkinsea  widder),  Huddy  Hewlit  (she 
married  Nat  Farntash  and  both  on  'em  died  to  the 
westard  a  number  o'  years  ago),  and  Sally  Smith 
(Sam  Pendergrasses  wife),  and  the  Peabodys  (Jeru- 
ehy  married  Shadrack  Dany — but  Betsey  ain't  mar- 
ried yet,  though  I  s'pose  if  ever  any  body  tried 
faithfully  to  git  a  husband  Bets'  Peabody  has),  and 
Nab  Einksten  (she  'tis  Major  Coon's  wife  now). 
2* 


84       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

though  then  she  wa'n't  nothin'  but  a  milliner's  ap- 
printice.  I  remember,  I  wondered  at  the  Smiths  foi 
invitin'  her,  but  they  never  was  pertikkeler  who  they 
went  with,  and  she  always  had  a  wonderful  way  o' 
crowdin'  in.  See — you  heerd,  dident  ycu,  how 't  she 
said  I  tried  to  ketch  the  Major,  but  he  Icokt  ruther 
higher  'n  to  marry  widder  Bedott  ?  He  must  a  lookt 
consarn-ed  high  when  he  took  Nab  Hinksten !  She  7s 
a  purty  critter  to  be  a  tryin'  to  disperse  my  character, 
I  dew  say !  I'  11  let  her  know  't  Deacon  Bedott's 
widder  ain't  agwine  to  be  put  down  by  the  like  o'  her. 
What  was  she,  pray  tell,  in  her  young  days  ?  I  make 
it  a  pint  never  to  say  nothin'  against  nobody — but 
truth  ain't  no  slander,  think  it  is?  and  all  creation 
knows  she  wa'n't  nobody.  Why  her  lather  was  a 
poor  drunken  shack  away  down  in  Bottletown,  and 
her  mother  took  in  washin',  and  Nab  Hinksten  herself 
worked  out  for  a  half  a  dollar  a  week,  till  Miss  Potter 
was  down  there  one  time  a  visitin'  Parson  Potter's  re- 
lations, and  she  took  pity  on  her  and  fetched  her  up 
to  Wiggletown  to  live  with  her ;  but  after  a  spell  she 
got  above  dewin'  housework  and  went  into  Miss  Dick- 
erson's  milliner  shop,  and  there  she  stayed  till  Zeb 
Hawkins  married  her,  and  after  he  died  o'  delirreum 
trimmins,  she  sot  tew  to  ketch  somebody  else,  and  at 
last  she  draw'd  in  Major  Coon— he  'd  been  disappinted 
('t  ain't  for  me  to  say  who  disappinted  him)  and  so 
he  dident  care  much  who  he  married  and  now  sho'e 


WIDOW    JENKINS7    ANIMOSITY.  36 

Miss  Major  Coon  !  O,  deary  me,  it 's  enough  to  make 
a  body  sick  to  see  the  airs  she  puts  on.  rDid  you  see 
her  come  nippin'  into  meetin'  last  Sahber  day  with 
that  are  great  long  ostridge  feather  in  her  bunnit,  and 
a  shawl  as  big  as  a  bed  kiver?  But  I  could  put  up 
with  hei  li  she  wouldent  slander  her  betters.  She 
and  Miss  Jinkins  is  wonderful  intimit  now,  though  I 
remember  when  Poll  Bingham  hild  her  head  high 
enough  above  Nab  Hinksten,  at  that  quiltin'  she 
dident  scarcely  speak  to  her.  Is  your  cup  out?  Take 
some  more  bread — not  no  more  ?  why  you  don't  eat 
nothing — I  'm  afeard  you  won't  make  out  a  supper — 
well  dew  take  a  piece  o'  the  sweetcake— I  ain't  sure 
about  it  bein'  good,  Melissy  made  it  and  she 's  apt  to 
git  in  a  leetle  tew  much  molasses — but  them  nutcakes 
I  know  is  good,  for  I  made  'em  myself  and  I  dew 
think  I  make  nutcakes  about  as  good  as  any  body 
else.  Kier's  a  wonderful  favoryte  o'  nutcakes,  ain't 
you  Kier  ?  but  his  father  couldent  eat  'em  at  all  for 
a  number  o'  year  afore  he  died — they  were  tew  rich 
for  his  stomick — -jest  as  sure  as  he  eat  a  nutcake  he 
used  to  have  a  sick  spell  afterward.  But  I  was  a 
gwinc  to  tell  how  Poll  Bingham  come  to  take  such  a 
spite  against  me — well,  the  beginnin'  on 't  commenced 
at  that  are  quiltin'.  In  the  evenin'  you  see  the  young 
men  come.  There  was  Hezekier  Bedott — Zeb  Haw- 
kins (he  't  was  Miss  Coon's  fust  husband,  he  got  to  be 
i  worthless  critter  afore  he  died),  and  Shubal  Green 


86       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS 

(he  "was  a  wonderful  good  singer,  had  an  amazui1 
powerful  voice,  used  to  sing  in  meetin'  and  nigh  about 
raise  the  ruff  o'  the  meetin'-house  off),  and  Zophar 
Slocum — he  was  studyin'  to  be  a  doctor,  he  was  a 
smart  young  man  but  dretful  humbly :  he  used  to 
write  the  poitry  for  the  "Wiggleton  Banner."  He 
got  dretfully  in  love  with  a  young  woman  once,  and 
she  dident  recipperate  his  feelins — 't  ain't  for  me  to 
tell  who  the  young  woman  was.  I  don't  approve  o* 
tellin'  such  things — well,  he  got  into  such  a  takin'  on 
account  o'  her  coldness,  that  at  last  he  writ  her  a  letter 
tellin'  of  her  how 't  he  couldent  stan  such  undifference 
no  longer,  and  if  she  continood  to  use  him  so,  he  was 
determined  to  commit  self-suiside — at  the  end  o'  tho 
letter,  he  put  in  a  varse  o'  poitry — it  says — 

0,  'tis  a  dretful  thing  to  be 
In  such  distress  and  miseree  I 
I  'm  eny  most  a  natteral  fool 
All  on  account  o'  Silly  Poole  I 

There!  I've  let  on  who  'twas — hain't  I?  but  be 
altered  his  mind  about  killin'  himself,  and  was  married 
about  three  months  after  to  Sophier  Jones.  Take 
another  nut-cake — dew.  Why,  what  a  small  eater 
you  be!  I'm  afeared  the  vittals  don't  -suit  you. 
Well,  less  see  who  else  was  there.  O,  Tim  Crane. 
He  was  a  wonderful  softly  feller — dident  scarsely 
know  enough  to  go  in  when  it  rained,  though  he  was 
purtj  sharp  at  makin'  money.  He  married  Trypheny 


WIDOW  JENKINS'  ANIMOSITY.       37 

Kenipe,  Deacon  Kenipe'e  sister — they  went  to  the 
westard,  and  I've  heered  they'd  got  to  be  quite  rich. 
I  guess  it  must  be  owin'  to  Miss  Crane's  scrapin' 
and  savin',  for  she  was  the  stingiest  of  all  created 
critters.  "What  did  you  say,  Kier?  Jim  Crane 
comin'  back  here  to  live  ?  Well,  't  won't  be  no  great 

addition   to  Wiggletown,   for  they  ain't What! 

Kier  Bedott  ?  Miss  Crane  dead  I  Land  o'  liberty  I 
what  an  awful  thing !  Dear  me !  I  dew  feel  amazin' 
eorry  for  Mr.  Crane !  how  onfortinate  I  to  lose  his 
wife  !  such  a  nice  woman  as  she  was,  tew  1  What  did 
you  say,  Melissy  Bedott !  How 't  I  jest  called  Miss 
Crane  a  stingy  critter  ?  you  must  a  misunderstood  me 
a  purpose  !  I  said  she  was  an  oncommon  equinomical 
woman.  I  always  thought  a  master  sight  of  Miss 
Crane,  though  I  must  say  she  wa'n't  quite  good 
enough  for  such  a  man  as  Timothy  Crane.  He  's  an 
amazin1  fine  man.  I  said  he  dident  know  nothing  ? 
Kier  Bedott,  how  you  dew  misunderstand.  I  meant 
that  he  was  a  wonderful  unoffensive  man,  well-dis- 
posed toward  every  body.  Well,  I  'm  glad  Mr. 
Crane  's  a  comin'  back  here ;  should  think  Jt  would  be 
melancholy  to  stay  there  after  buryin'  his  pardner. 
His  poor  motherless  darters,  tew  !  I  feel  for  them.  It 's 
a  dretful  thing  for  galls  to  be  left  without  a  mother ! 
Melisay,  what  b 5  you  winkin'  to  Kier  for?  Don't  you 
enow  it 's  very  improper  to  wink  ?  Kier,  did  Deacon 
Kenipe  say  what  comDlaint  Miss  Crane  died  of  ?  The 

4C13G1 


88        WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEES. 

eperdemic!  how  you  talk!  that's  a  tumble  disease: 
I  remember  it  prevailed  in  our  place  when  I  was  quite 
young — a  number  o'  individuals  died  on't  I  don't 
wonder  Mr.  Crane  wants  to  git  away  from  the  west- 
ard,  it  must  be  very  onpleasant  to  stay  to  a  place 
where  his  companion  was  tore  away  from  him  by  such 
an  aggravatin'  complaint  as  the  eperdemic.  Won't 
you  be  helped  to  nothing  more  ? — 0,  sure  enough — I 
was  goin'  to  tell  how  Poll  Bingham  came  to  be  such 
an  inimy  o'  mine — now  I  should  n't  wonder  if  she 
should  set  tew  and  try  tew  ketch  Mr.  Crane  when  he 
comes  back,  should  you  ?  I  '11  bet  forty  great  apples 
she  '11  dew  it,  she 's  been  ravin'  distracted  to  git  married 
ever  since  she  was  a  widder,  but  I  ruther  guess  Timo- 
thy Crane  ain't  a  man  to  be  took  in  by  such  a  great 
fat,  humbly,  slanderin'  old  butter  tub.  She 's  as  gray 
as  a  rat,  tew,  that  are  hair  o'  hern 's  false.  I  'm  gray 
tew.  I  guess  you  haint  told  no  news  now,  Melissy 
Bedott.  I  know  I'm  ruther  gray,  but  it's  owin'  to 
sickness  and  trouble.  I  had  n't  a  gray  hair  in  my  head 
when  yer  par  died.  I  ain't  as  old  as  widder  Ji  nkins, 
by  a  number  o'  year.  I  think  't  wo  aid  be  a  good 
idear  for  some  friendly  person  to  warn  Mr.  Crane 
aginst  Poll  Jinkins  as  soon  as  he  gits  here,  don't  you  ? 
I  dew  feel  for  Mr.  Crane.  Kier,  I  wish  you  'd  invite 
him  to  step  in  when  you  see  him,  I  want  to  oonvarse 
•vitli  him.  I  feel  to  sympathize  with  him  in  his  afflic- 
tive dispensation,  I  know  what  'tis  to  lose  a  pardner. 


IV 

r.  Cxaiu 


TTTALK  in  !  Why  Mr.  Crane  how  dew  you  dew  ? 
I'm  despot  glad  to  see  you  —  amazin'  glad. 
Kier  told  me  you  'd  arriv'  several  days  ago,  and  I  Ve 
been  suspectin'  you  in  every  day  sence.  Take  a  cheer 
and  set  down  —  dew  —  Why  Mr.  Crane,  you  hold  yer 
own  wonderfully,  don't  grow  old  a  speck  as  I  see. 
Think  I've  altered  much?  Don't,  hay?  Well,  Mr. 
Crane,  we  Ve  both  on  us  had  trouble  enough  to  make 
us  look  old.  Excuse  my  cryin',  Mr.  Crane.  I've 
ben  dretfully  exercised  ever  sence  I  heerd  o'  your 
affliction.  O!  Mr.  Crane!  what  poor  short-sighted 
critters  we  be  !  can't  calkilafe  with  any  degree  o'  sar- 
tinty  what  's  a  gwine  to  happen.  Parson  Potter  used 
to  say  't  was  well  we  did  n't  know  the  futur,  cause 
't  would  have  an  attendency  to  onfit  us  for  dewin'  our 
duty  ;  and  so  't  would  —  if  you  and  I  'd  a  knowed 
when  you  went  away  fifteen  year  ago,  what  we  'd  got 
to  undergo,  't  would  a  nigh  about  killed  us,  would  n't 
it  ?  0  !  Mr.  Crane  1  Mr.  Crane  I  Creation  has  dealt 
purty  hard  with  us  sence  we  parted!  Then,  you  had 


40       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

a  wife — 'an  uncommon  likely  woman  she  was  lew  — 
and  I  was  blest  with  one  o'  the  best  o'  men  for  a 
husband — now,  I'm  a  widder,  and  you're  a  wid 
dyiver.  But  our  loss  is  their  gain — at  least  I  'm  sartin 
my  loss  is  Deacon  Bedott's  gain.  O !  Mr.  Crane,  how 
that  man  did  suffer  for  a  number  o'  year  afore  he  died; 
but  he  was  the  resignedest  critter  I  ever  did  see — 
never  grumbled  a  grain.  Parson  Potter  used  to  say 
't  was  to  eddification  to  come  to  see  him,  and  hear  him 
convarse.  He  felt  wonderful  bad  about  your  bein' 
gone  to  the  westard,  Mr.  Crane.  He  used  to  frequent- 
ly remark,  that  he'd  giv  more  to  see  Mr.  Crane  than 
ary  individdyival  he  knowed  on.  He  sot  a  great  deal 
by  you — and  so  did  I  by  Miss  Crane.  "We  both  on 
us  felt  as  if  we  could  n't  be  reconciled  to  your  liyin 
away  off  there — it  seemed  as  if  we  could  n't  have  it  so 
no  way.  It's  a  dretful  pity  you  went  there,  Mr. 
Crane.  Mabby  if  you  had  n't  a  went,  yer  pardner 
would  n't  a  died — but  what 's  did  °,an't  be  ondid,  it 's 
tdl  for  the  best.  I  was  turribly  overcome  when  I 
heerd  o'  her  death — fainted  away,  and  't  was  quite  a 
spell  afore  I  come  tew.  That 's  a  bad  clymit,  Mr. 
Crane — it  must  be  a  bad  clymit,  or  the  eperdemic,  and 
fever  ager  would  n't  prevail  so  there.  A  few  year  afor 
husband  died,  Tie  had  quite  a  notion  to  go  to  the  west- 
ard. He  heerd  how  well  you  was  a  dewin' — and  then 
there  was  Samson  Bedott,  his  cousin  (ha  married  Hep- 
ey  Gifford,  you  know),  Tie.  went  some  where  to  the  west- 


MR.    CRANE    WALKS    IN.  41 

ard — and  after  he'd  ben  there  a  spell,  he  writ  my  hus- 
band a  letter,  urgin'  of  him  to  come  out  there,  he  said 
to  be  sure  the  clymit  was  ruther  tryin'  at  fast — but  then 
after  you  'd  got  used  to  't,  you  'd  be  ruggeder  'n  ever 
you  was  afore — and  it  was  such  a  wonderful  kentry 
for  agricultifer  to  grow — said  't  wa'n't  nigh  so  mount- 
anious  as  the  eastard — the  yomandery  didn't  have  to 
labor  no  wher  nigh  so  hard  as  what  they  did  here — 
just  plant  your  perduce  and  that  was  the  eend  on 't — 
t  would  take  care  of  itself  till  'twas  time  to  git  it  in. 
Well,  husband  was  quite  fierce  to  go — and  if  it  had  n't 
a  ben  for  me,  he  would  a  went,  but  I  would  n't  hear 
to 't  at  all.  I  says  to  him,  says  I,  "  'T  wont  dew  for 
you  to  go  there,  no  how — Samson,  himself,  owns  it 's 
a  tryin'  clymit — and  if  it 's  tryin'  for  well  hearty  folks, 
how  do  you  'spose  you'd  stan'  it?  you  enjoy  poor 
enough  health  here,  and  if  you  was  to  go  there  you  'd 
enjoy  woss  yet,  what's  agricultifer  compared  to 
health  ?"  I  was  a  great  deal  more  consarned  for  hus- 
band than  what  I  was  for  myself,  Mr.  Crane — be  sure 
it 's  a  woman's  duty  to  feel  so,  but  seems  to  me  I  felt 
it  oncommonly.  And  no  wonder,  for  my  husband 
was  a  treshur.  0 1  Mr.  Crane,  when  I  lost  him  I  lost 
att.  And  that's  what  makes  me  feel  to  sympathize 
with  you  as  I  dew,  Mr.  Crane.  Our  sittywations  are 
so  much  alike.  I  'spose  you  Teel  as  if  your  loss 
could  n't  never  be  made  up  to  you,  don't  you  ?  That 's 
jest  how  1  felt.  Now  there's  Major  Coon,  and  Mr 


42        WIDOW  BBDOTT  PAPERS. 

Gifford,  and  Squire  Perce,  and  Cappen  Canoot,  and 
old  uncle  Dawson  (he's  old  but  he's  quite  rich),  why, 
nary  one  o'  them  would  n't  a  filled  Deacon  Bedott'a 
place  to  me;  'T  ain't  for  me  to  say  they  Ve  all  wanted 
me — ahem — but  s'posen  they  should,  you  know. 
Whenever  my  friends  begin  to  talk  to  me  about 
changin'  my  condition,  I  always  tell  'em  it 's  a  resh — 
and  so  'tis  Mr.  Crane — it 's  a  tumble  resk  to  take  a 
second  pardner — without  its  an  individdyival  you 
know  'd  when  you  was  young — that  makes  a  difference 
— 't  ain't  so  resky  then.  But  after  all,  Mr.  Crane — it  'a 
a  try  in'  thing  to  be  without  a  companion — ain't  it  ? 
And  then  there 's  the  responsibilitude  and  bringing 
up  the  children — widders  complains  most  o'  that. 
But  there 's  a  wonderful  difference  in  folks  about  that. 
Now  't  wa'n't  no  great  chore  for  me  to  bring  up  my 
children.  Parson  Potter's  wife  fraquently  used  to 
say  (she  had  quite  a  large  family,  you  know),  she  used 
to  say  to  me,  "Miss  Bedott  I'd  giv  eny,  most  eny 
thing  if  I  had  such  a  faculty  for  managin'  children 
as  you  Ve  got,  and  for  dewin'  as  well  by  'em  as  what 
you  do."  Ther  is  an  amazin'  difference  in  wimmin — 
now  ther  's  the  widder  Jinkins — she  't  was  Poll  Bing- 
ham — see — you  knowd  Poll  Bingham  when  she  was 
a  gal,  did  n't  you  ?  Very  nice  gal  did  you  say  1 ! ! 
Why  Mr.  Crane,  how  forgetful  your  memory  is !  But 
I  don't  know  as  she  was  so  much  woss  than  some  other 
gals  I  Ve  knowd.  A  body  can't  tell  what  sort  of  a 


MR.    CRANE    WALKS    IN.  43 

vroman  a  gal  will  make  afore  she's  married— they 
don't  always  show  out,  you  know.  But  I  make  it  a 
pint  never  to  say  nothing  against  nobody — and  I  am 
sure  I  don't  wish  Miss  Jinkins  no  harm — for  all  she  'a 
did  so  much  to  injure  me.  I  was  only  gwine  to  speak 
o'  her  way  o'  bringin'  up  her  children.  'Tis  astonish- 
in'  how  that  critter  has  managed  with  them  young 
ones !  She 's  the  miserablest  hand  I  ever  did  see  in 
all  my  born  days.  "Why  them  little  plagues  was  in 
the  streets  from  mornin'  till  night — Bill  and  Sam  a 
swearin'  and  throwin'  stuns — and  Alviry  a  racin'  and 
rompin'  and  botherin'  the  neighbors.  They've  got 
bigger  now  and  ain't  quite  so  troublesome,  though 
they  're  bad  enough  yet — but  that  ain't  to  be  wondered 
at — for  Miss  Jinkins  has  so  much  gaddin'  to  dew  she 
hain't  no  time  to  tend  to  her  family.  But  if  that  was 
all  ther  was  against  her  't  would  n't  be  so  bad.  How- 
ever— I  don't  want  to  talk  about  her — truth  ain't  to 
be  spoken  at  all  times  you  know — but  I  will  say  I 
should  pity  any  decent  man  that  got  her  for  a  wife — • 
'-specially  if  he  had  children.  Speakin'  o'  children — 
you  must  feel  Miss  Crane's  loss  dretfully  in  takin'  care 
o'  yourn.  It 's  an  awful  task  for  a  man  to  manage 
gals,  Mr.  Crane — and  you  've  got  four  on  'em— 
Mirandy  and  Seliny  is  purty  well  growd  up — but  then 
them  tew  little  ones — see — what 's  ther  names  ?  O, 
yes — Liddy  and  Sary  Ann.  What  purty  little  critters 
they  be  though  I  noticed  them  in  meetin'  a  Sabber- 


44       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

day — 0  Mr.  Crane!  when  I  looked  at  them  poor  little 
darlin's — a  settin'  there  all  in  mournin' — and  thought 
about  their  motherless  sittywation — I  felt  as  if  I 
should  a  bust  right  out  a  cryin' !  I  had  to  hold  my 
handkerchief  afore  my  face.  0  Mr.  Crane !  I  dew 
feel  for  them  children !  It 's  so  onfortinate  to  be  left 
without  a  mother ! — jest  at  their  age  tew — when  they 
have  so  much  vivacitude  and  animosity,  and  need  a 
mother's  care  for  to  train  'em  rightly.  O  Mr.  Crane  1 
it 's  tumble !  tumble  I  What  would  Melissy  a  did  if 
it  had  a  ben  me  that  died  instid  of  her  par  ?  She 
wa'n't  but  ten  year  old,  just  about  the  age  o'  them 
little  cherubims  o'  yourn.  My  husband  was  an  on- 
common  gifted  man — and  a  wonderful  kind  father — 
but  he  would  n't  a  did  by  Melissy  as  I  have — he 
would  n't  a  knowed  how  to  expend  her  mind  and  de- 
vilup  her  understandin'  as  I  have — but  I  Ve  got  a 
natteral  tack.  Melissy 's  a  credit  to  me,  Mr.  Crane — 
tho'  it 's  me  that  says  so,  she 's  -6ny  most  as  good  a 
housekeeper  as  what  I  be,  but 't  ain't  for  me  to  boast 
— I've  been  indefategable  in  train'  of  her.  I  'm  sorry 
she  hain't  to  hum  to-night — she  and  Kier  's  gone  to 
singin'  school.  Yes — it's  an  onfortinate  thing  foi 
gals  to  be  left  without  a  mother.  It  was  dretful  Miss 
Crane 's  bein'  took  away — so  sudding  tew — I  feel  so 
distrest  about  your  moloncolly  sittywation  I  can'1 
scarcely  sleep  o'  nights.  I  Ve  jest  begun  a  piece  o' 
ooitry  describim'  you  feelins.  I  '11  read  you  what  I  'vc 


ME.    CRANE    WALKS    IN.  45 

got  writ  if  you  're  a  mind  to  hear  it,  tho'  it  ain't  only 
jest  begun.    I  call  it— 

MB.  CRANE'S  LAMENTATIONS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HIS 
COMPANION. 

Trypheny  Crane !  Trypheny  Crane  ! 

And  shan't  we  never  meet  no  more  ? 
My  buzzom  heaves  with  tumble  pain 

While  I  thy  ontimely  loss  deplore. 

I  used  to  fraquently  grumble  at  my  fate 
And  be  afeerd  I  was  a  gwine  to  suffer  sorrer — 

But  since  you  died  my  trouble  is  so  great 
I  hain't  got  no  occasion  for  to  borrer. 

The  birds  is  singin'  in  the  trees, 
The  flowers  is  blowin'  on  the  plain, 

But  they  hain't  got  no  power  to  please 
Without  my  dear  Trypheny  Crane. 

^  I  can't  submit  to 't  though  I  must, 

It  is  a  dretful  blow, 
My  heart  is  ready  for  to  bust — 
I  shall  give  up  I  know. 

And  though  ondoubtedly  my  loss 

Is  my  dear  pardner's  gain, 
I  can't  be  reconciled,  because 

I've  lost  my  Trypheny  Crane. 


When  I  git  all  writ  I'll  giv  it  to  you  if  you  want 
it.  I  calkilate  to  have  it  considerable  longer — I  al- 
ways aim  to  have  my  poims  long  enough  to  pay  folks 
for  the  trouble  o'  readin  of  'em.  What !  must  you 
go  ?  Well  dew  come  in  agin — come  often — I've  been 
quite  gratified  hearin  of  you  talk — you  've  been  away 
so  long.  Now  dew  be  neighborly — and  dew  tell  Mi 


46  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

randy  and  Seliny  to  come  and  see  Melissy — and  Lid- 
dy  and  Sary  Ann — dew  let  them  come  over.  I'm 
very  fond  o'  children — very  indeed — and  I  feel  so 
much  for  them  are  tew  dear  little  motherless  critters, 
Well— good  night;  Mr.  Crane! 


0f 


/~^OOD  evenin',  Betsy—  (Mr.  Crane's  "help.")—  Is 
Mr.  Crane  to  hum  ?  Is  he  in  the  kitchen?  in 
the  settin'  room,  hey  ?  Ain't  very  well  ?  why  how 
you  talk  !  Well,  I  want  to  see  him  a  minnit,  but  I 
guess  I'll  jest  step  in  the  kitchin  fast  and  dry  my  feet. 
I  'd  no  idee  'twas  so  sloppy  or  I  'd  a  wore  my  over- 
shoes —  seems  to  me  you  're  got  yer  kitchen  heated  up 
wonderful  hot  —  0,  stewin  yer  punkin,  hey?  I  've 
been  makin  some  pies  to-day,  tew.  You  must  have  a 
purty  hard  time  here,  Betsy.  Mr.  Crane  's  a  fine  man, 
a  v&ry  fine  man  —  a  very  fine  man,  indeed  —  but  'tain't 
as  if  he  had  a  wife  —  now  every  thing  comes  on  his 
help,  you  see  —  the  gals  is  nice  gals  —  amazin'  nice  gals 
but  they  hain't  no  experience  —  never  had  no  care  you 
know  —  and  'tain't  natral  to  s'pose  they  could  take 
right  hold  and  dew,  as  soon  as  ther  mar  died.  But  it 
sems  ruther  hard  to  see  so  much  come  onto  a  young 
gal  like  you.  On  your  account  I  wish  Mr.  Crane  had 
a  wife,  't  would  be  so  much  easier  for  you  —  that  is  if 
Ue  got  a  good  experienced  woman  o'  biziness  —  that 


48  WIDOW    BEDOIT    PAPERS. 

had  brung  up  a  family  of  her  own— don't  you  think 
so  ? — "Well,  my  feet's  got  purty  well  dry — I  guess  I'll 
step  into  the  settin'  room  and  see  Mr.  Crane — I've  got 
an  arrant  tew  him.  How  d'  you  dew,  Mr.  Crane  ? 
I'm  dretful  sorry  to  hear  you  ain't  well,  I  wa'n't  a 
comin'  in — but  Betsy  said  you  was  undisposed — and  I 
was  unwillin'  to  make  you  egspose  yerself  by  comin' 
to  the  door — so  I  thought  I  'd  jest  step  in  where  you  was 
— hope  I  don't  intrude — I  jest  run  over  to  fetch  that 
are  poitry  I've  ben  writen  for  you — I  would  a  gin  it 
to  yer  darters — they  called  in  for  Melissy  to  go  to  sing- 
in'  school — but  I  was  afeard  they'd  lose  it  afore  they 
got  hum — young  gals  is  kerless,  you  know.  Here 
'tis — 'tain't  so  long  as  I  meant  to  have,  arter  all — only 
nine  and  forty  varses — but  I  've  had  company — sister 
Magwire  (she  'twas  Melissy  Poole,  you  know — my 
youngest  sister,  the  one  my  Melissy  was  named  arter) 
she's  ben  to  see  me,  and  stayed  a  week,  and  when  a 
body  has  company  it  kind  o'  flustrates  a  body's  idees, 
you  know.  And  then,  tew,  sister  Magwire  don't  take 
no  interest  in  no  such  thing.  She 's  a  very  clever  wo- 
man, Melissy  is,  but  she  ain't  a  bit  like  me — hain't  no 
genyus^ — no  more  hain't  sister  Harrinton — why  they 
don't  nary  one  on  'em  take  no  more  sense  o'  poitry 
than  that  are  stove.  If  I  had  a  let  on  to  sister  Mag- 
wire  what  I  was  a  writin',  she  'd  a  tried  to  stop  me — 
had  to  work  at  it  o'  nights  arter  she  d  went  to  bed — 
and  that 's  the  reason  why  I  hain't  finished  it  afore. 


DISCOURSES    OP    PUMPKINS.  49 

Sister  Magwire's  a  smart  woman,  tew  in  her  way — but 
it  'a  a  different  kind  o'  smart  from  mine.  I  think  her 
bein'  married  to  such  a  man  has  exarted  an  on  fav- 
orable attendency  on  her.  Mr.  Magwire  's  a  stiddy, 
well-meanin'  man — and  has  got  along  amazin'  pros- 
perous in  the  world — but  he  has  dretful  curus  notions. 
Why,  when  I  writ  that  affectin'  allegory  to  the  memo- 
ry o'  my  husband,  as  true  as  I  live,  Mr.  Crane,  broth- 
er Magwire  laffed  about  it  right  to  my  face ! — said 
'twas  enough  to  make  the  deacon  groan  under  ground 
— did  you  ever !  I  felt  dretful  hurt  about  it,  but  I 
never  laid  it  up  agin  him,  'cause  I  know'd  he  dident 
know  no  better.  But  I  dew  feel  wonderful  consarned 
about  yer  health,  Mr.  Crane.  What  seems  to  be  tho 
matter  with  you  ?  Pain  in  yer  chist !  O !  that 's  tur- 
rible! — it  always  scares  me  to  death  to  hear  of  any 
body's  havin'  a  pain  in  ther  chist.  "Why  that  very 
thing  was  the  beginnin'  o'  my  husband's  sickness,  that 
finally  terminated  in  his  expiration.  It  ought  to  be 
tended  tew  right  off,  Mr.  Crane,  right  off.  When 
husband  fust  had  it,  'twant  very  bad,  and  he  dident 
pay  no  tention  to  't — next  time  'twas  rother  woss,  and 
I  wanted  him  to  send  for  the  doctor,  but  he  wouldeut 
— he  was  always  amazinly  opposed  to  physicianers. 
Well,  the  next  time  he  was  attacked  'twas  dretful  bad 
— he  had  to  lay  by — still  all  I  could  dew  I  couldent 
conduce  him  to  have  a  doctor.  Well  it  went  on  so 
for  three  days.  I  done  all  I  could  for  him,  but  it 


50        WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

dident  do  a  smite  o'  good — he  kept  a  gittin'  woss  and 
woss,  and  the  third  day  he  was  so  distrest  it  did  seem  as 
if  every  breath  he  draw'd  would  be  the  death  on  him. 
Jest  then  old  mother  Pike  come  in — she  was  quite  a 
doctor,  you  know — and  she  said  he  must  take  skoke 
berries  and  rum  right  off — ther  wa'n't  nothin'  like  it 
for  pain  in  the  chist — she  always  kep  it  in  the  house 
— so  she  goes  right  hum  and  fetches  over  a  bottle  on't 
and  gin  husband  a  wine  glass  full.  She  said  he  must 
begin  with  a  purty  stiff  dose,  'cause  he'd  let  it  run  on 
BO  long — arterward  a  gret  spunful  night  and  mornin' 
would  be  enough.  Well,  'tis  astonishin'  how  soon 
my  husband  experienced  relief.  Arter  that  he  always 
took  it  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  I  dew  believe  it  alleviated 
his  sufferings  wonderfully — yes — I  hain't  a  doubt  but 
what  if  he'd  a  took  it  afore  his  disorder  was  seated,  that 
man  'd  a  been  alive  and  well  to  this  day.  But  what's 
did  can't  be  ondid — it's  no  use  cryin'  for  spilt  milk. 
Now,  Mr.  Crane,  I  dew  beseech  you,  as  a  friend,  to 
take  skoke  berries  and  rum  afore  it's  tew  late.  Tem- 
perance man,  hey?  So  be  I  tew;  and  you  don't 
s'pose,  dew  you,  Mr.  Crane,  that  I'd  advise  you  to  take 
any  thing  that  would  intosticate  you  ?  I'd  die  afore 
I'd  dew  it.  I  think  tew  much  of  my  repertation  and 
yourn  tew,  to  do  such  a  thing.  But  it  is  the  harmless' 
est  stuff  a  body  can  take.  You  see  the  skoke  berries 
counterects  tke  alkyhall  in  the  rum,  and  annyliates 
all  its  intosticatin'  qualities.  We  jest  put  the  rum  on 


DISCOURSES    ON    PTJMTZINS.  61 

to  make  it  keep.  You  know  skoke  berries  can't  be 
got  in  the  winter  time,  so  if  you  want  to  presarve 
'em  for  winters,  you  've  got  to  put  some  sort  o'  sperits 
tew  'em  so  's  they  won't  spyle.  So  don't  you  be  none 
afeard  to  take  it,  Mr.  Crane.  I'll  send  you  some 
when  I  go  hum — I  always  keeps  it  on  hand — and 
you  be  faithful  and  take  a  great  spunful  night  and 
mornin' — and  if  you  ain't  the  better  for't  afore  long — 
then  I'm  out  o'  my  calkilation — that's  all.  You  must 
feel  yer  loss  oncommonly  when  you  ain't  well,  Mr. 
Crane.  If  ever  a  departed  companion  's  missed — 
seems  to  me  it  must  be  when  the  afflicted  surviver's 
sick — 'specially  if  its  a  widiwer  that's  lost  his  wife. 
How  awful  lonesome  you  must  be  here  alone,  when 
the  children  's  in  bed  and  the  gals  has  gun  off— as  I 
s'pose  they  fraquently  dew  when  evenin'  comes — and  I 
don't  blame  them  for't  as  I  know  on — its  natural  for 
young  folks  to  like  to  go.  How  dretful  lonesome  you 
must  be.  Now  some  men  wouldent  mind  it  so  much 
— they  'd  go  abroad  and  divart  their  minds — but  you 
ain't  a  man  to  go  to  taverns  and  shops  and  such  like 
places  to  begwile  the  time — yur  Ve  a  man  that 's  above 
such  things,  Mr.  Crane — and  that 's  what  makes  it  so 
aggrevative  for  you  to  be  without  a  pardner.  I  went 
into  the  kitchen  to  dry  my  feet  as  I  came  in — and  O, 
Mr.  Crane  1  I  never  did  experience  such  moloncolly 
sensations  in  my  life  as  I  did  when  I  see  how  things 
went  on  there— 'twas  plain  to  be  seen  ther  want  no 


52        WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

head  in  the  kitchenarj  department,  and  when  'taint 
well  managed  there — I  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Crane — 
't  wont't  be  long  afore  it  '11  be  out  o'  kilter  every  where. 
Now  Betsey  Pringle's  a  clever  enough  gal  fur  as  I 
know — but  she's  young  and  onstiddy,  and  wants 
lookin'  tew  every  minit.  She  lived  to  Sam  Fender- 
grasses  a  spell — and  Miss  Pendergrass  told  me  how't 
Betsey  could  dew — but  she  wanted  somebody  to  her 
heels  t'  overlook  her  all  the  time — she  was  such  a 
kerless  critter — said  she  couldent  git  along  with  her 
no  way.  Now  if  Sam  Pendergrasses  wife  couldent 
stan'  it  with  Betsey,  it's  a  .mystery  to  me  how  tew 
young  gals  like  yourn  is  a  gwine  to  git  along  with  her. 
They  hain't  never  had  no  care,  and 't  ain't  to  be  suspect- 
ed they  should  know  how  to  manage — 't  would  be 
cruel  to  require  it  on  'em.  It  needs  an  experienced 
woman— and  one  that  takes  an  interest  in  things,  to 
keep  house  right.  Ther  was  one  thing  hurt  my  feel- 
ins  amazinly  when  I  was  in  the  kitchen — Betsey  was 
a  stewin'  punkins  for  pies — I  knowd  in  a  minnit  by 
the  smell,  that  the  critter  was  a  burnin  on't  up.  I 
dident  say  nothin — thought  mabby  she  'd  be  put  out 
if  I  did,  cause  I  ain't  mistress  here — but  I  couldent 
ekercely  hold  in.  I  '11  be  bound,  Mr.  Crane,  you  won't 
have  a  punkin  pie  fit  t'  eat  all  winter  long — and  it 
makes  me  feel  bad  to  think  on  't — for  I  make  gret  ac- 
count o'  punkms  in  winter  time — don't  you  ?  Speak- 
in  o'  punkins  reminds  me  of  a  trick  Miss  Jinking 


DISCOURSES    OP    PUMPKINS.  53 

sarved  me  once  (she' t  was  Poll  Bingham) — I  never  see 
a  Dunkin  without  thinkin'  on  't — and  its  tew  good  to 
keep — though  I  don't  want  to  say  nothin'  to  injure 
Miss  Jinkins.  'T  was  tew  year  ago  this  fall — some- 
how or  other  our  punkins  dident  dew  well  that  year. 
Kier  said  he  dident  know  whether  the  seed  was  poor, 
or  what  'twas — any  how,  our  punkins  dident  come  to 
nothin'  at  all — had  to  make  all  my  punkin  pies  out  o 
squashes — and  them  ain't  no  wher  nigh  as  good  as  pun- 
kins.  Well,  one  day  I  see  Sam  and  Bill  Jinkins  go 
by  with  a  load  o,'  punkins — so  I  says  to  Millissy,  says 
I,  "I  mean  to  jest  run  over  and  see  if  Miss  Jinkins 
won't  let  me  have  one  o'  her  punkins," — the  sight  on 
'em  fairly  makes  my  mouth  water.  So  I  throws  on 
my  shawl  and  goes  over — though  I  very  seldom  axed 
any  favors  o'  her — notwithstandin'  she  was  etarnally 
borrerin'  o'  me — why  ther  want  scarcely  a  day  past 
but  what  she  sent  to  borrer  somethin  or  other — a  loaf 
o'  bread — or  a  drawin'  o'  tea — or  a  little  molasses  or  a 
.little  sugar,  or  what  not — and  what 's  more — she  wa'nt 
wonderful  partickler  about  payin' — and  it's  a  sollem 
fact — the  times  that  critter  has  had  my  bake  pans  and 
my  flats  and  my  wash  board,  ain't  to  be  numbered.  I 
make  it  a  pint  never  to  borrer  when  I  can  help  it. 
Ther  is  times  to  be  sure — when  the  best  o'  housekeep- 
ers is  put  to  't  and  obleged  to  ax  favors  o'  ther  nabors 
—but  as  for  borrerin'  every  day — week  in  and  week 
out,  as  the  widder  Jinkins  does — ther  ain't  no  need 


54  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS 

on't — -but  she  can't  stay  to  hum  long  enough  to  keep 
things  in  any  kind  o'  decent  order.  But  I  was  gwine 
to  tell  how  she  sarved  me  about  the  punkin.  Well — 
I  goes  over — and  I  says,  says  I,  "  Miss  Jinkins,  I  see 
you  're  a  gittin'  in  yer  punkins — and  I  want  to  know 
whether  or  no  you  can't  spare  me  one — ourn's  failed, 
you  know."  "  Well,"  says  she,  "  we  hain't  got  more 
'n  enough  for  our  own  use — but  seem'  it's  pw,  I  guess  I 
will  let  you  have  one."  So  she  went  and  fetched  in 
one— quite  a  small  one 't  was.  "  What 's  the  price  on  Tt 
says  I  (I  dident  s'pose  she  'd  tak  any  thing,  for  I  'd  gin 
her  a  mess  o'  turnips  a  few  days  afore — but  I  thought 
Fd  offer  to  pay).  "  What 's  the  price  on  't  ?"  says  I. 
"  0  nothin'  at  all,"  says  she.  "  Lawful  sakes  !"  says  T, 
"  you  don't  s'pose  I  want  to  leg  it,  dew  you  ?  I  meant 
to  pay  the  money  down."  "  You  'd  look  well,"  says 
ehe,  "  a  payin'  for 't — don't  you  s'pose  I  can  afford  to 
giv  away  a  punkin? — purty  story  if  I  can't!" 
"  Well,"  says  I,  "  thank  you  a  thousand  times-  -you 
must  come  in  to-morrer  arter  I  git  my  pies  made  and 
help  eat  some."  "  Well,  mabby  I  will,"  says  she — so 
I  takes  my  punkin  and  goes  hum  mighty  pleased. 
Well,  next  day  Melissy  and  me  we  cut  up  the  punkin 
— 'twas  dretful  small  and  wonderful  thin — and  when 
I  come  to  stew  it — my  gracious !  how  it  did  stew 
away !  The  fact  is  'twas  a  miserable  poor  punkin — 
good  punkins  don't  stew  down  to  nothin'  so.  Milessy 
she  lookt  into  the  pot  and  says  she  to  me,  says  she. 


DISCOURSES    OF    PUMPKINS.  56 

{ Granf 'ther  grievous !  why  mar  I'm  afeard  this  ere 
punkin's  gwine  to  exasperate  intirely,  so  ther  won't  be 
nun  left  on't."  Well  sure  enough — arter  'twas  sifted 
— as  true  as  the  world,  Mr.  Crane — ther  want  more'n 
a  pint  on't.  "  Why,  mar,"  Milessy,  says  she — "  't  wont 
make  more'n  <me  gocd  sized  pie."  "Never  you  fear," 
says  I — "  i  '11  bet  forty  gret  apples  I  '11  git  three  pies 
out  on  't  any  way."  Some  folks,  you  know,  puts 
eggs  in  punkii)  pies,  but  accordin'  to  my  way  o'  think- 
in,  tain't  no  addition.  When  I  have  plenty  o'  punkin 
T  never  use  'em — but  Miss  Jinkinses  punkia  turned 
out  «o  small,  I  see  I  shouldent  have  nun  to  speak  on 
without  I  put  in  eggs;  so  I  takes  my  punkin  arid  I 
stirs  in  my  molasses,  and  my  milk,  and  my  eggs,  and 
my  spices,  and  I  fills  three  of  my  biggest  pie-pans. 
"There,"  says  I  to  Melissy,  "did n't  I  say  I'd  make 
three  pies,  and  hain't  I  did  it?"  "Yes,"  says  she, 
"  but  they're  purty  much  all  ingrejiences,  and  precious 
little  punkin."  Well,  we  got  'em  in  the  oven,  and 
jest  as  I  was  gwine  to  put  in  the  last  one,  somebody 
knockt  at  the  door.  Melissy  was  a  handin'  on  't  to  mo, 
and  she  was  ruther  startled,  you  know,  when  she 
heerd  the  knock,  and  she  jerked  away  quite  gadding, 
and  spilt  about  half  the  pie  out.  I  wiped  it  up  as 
quick  as  I  could,  and  Melissy  she  opened  the  door, 
and  lo  and  behold !  who  should  come  in  but  the  wid- 
der  Jinkins  !  Arter  she  'd  sot  a  spell  she  says,  Bays 
she,  "  Well,  Miss  Bedott,  how  did  you  make  out  with 


66  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

yer  pies  ?"  "  O,  very  well,"  says  I.  "  I  'd  jest  got  'em 
in  the  oven  when  you  come  in."  I  thought,  seein1  she 
gin  me  the  punkin,  I  wouldent  say  nothin'  about  its 
bein'  such  a  miserable  one.  Mustent  find  fault  in  a 
gift  hosses  mouth,  you  know.  Well,  when  my  pies 
was  done  I  takes  'em  and  sets  'em  on  the  table.— 
"  Them  looks  nice,"  says  the  widder,  says  she.  "  They 
be  nice,"  says  I.  I  knowed  they  was  nice,  for  they 
had  every  thing  in  'em  to  make  'em  nice.  So  I  took 
the  thin  one  that  Melissy  spilt  over,  and  sot  it  in  the 
buttry  winder  to  cool,  so  's  to  give  Miss  Jinkins  a  piece. 
I  took  that  cause  I  knowd  't  would  cool  sooner'n  t' 
others,  on  account  of  its  bein'  thinner.  "Well,  when 
my  pie  was  cool,  I  fetcht  it  out  and  sot  it  afore  Miss 
Jinkins,  and  I  gin  her  a  knife  and  a  fork,  and  says  I, 
"  Now  help  yerself,  Miss  Jinkins,"  and  I  tell  you,  the 
way  she  helpt  herself  was  a  caution.  Melissy  lookt 
as  if  she  was  ready  to  burst  out  laffin ;  I  was  raly 
afeard  she  would.  Arter  she  'd  put  in  about  half  the 
pie,  she  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork,  and  says  she, 
"  This  ere  pie  ain't  cool  enough  yet  accordin'  to  my 
way  of  thinkin' — I  never  did  fancy  warm  punkin  pies." 
So  she  riz  up  to  go.  "  0  don't  go,  Miss  Jinkins,"  says 
T,  "  dew  wait  a  spell  and  I'll  set  it  out  door — it  '11  cool 
there  in  a  few  minnits — you  gin  me  the  punkin  and  I 
want  you  should  have  yer  share  o'  the  pie."  "Mercy 
on  us  !"  says  she,  "  I  hope  you  don't  spose  I  consider 
a  punkin  such  a  mighty  gret  gift— I  was  very  glad  ofl 


DISCOURSES    OF    PUMPKINS.  67 

a  chance  t'  obleege  you — but  it  Js  time  I  was  hum— I 
guess  I  won't  mind  about  eaten  any  more  o'  that  there 
pie — I  never  'did  fancy  thin  punkin  pies — these  ere  tew  'II 
be  as  much  as  I  want"  And  jest  as  true  as  I  live 
and  breathe,  the  critter  actilly  took  them  tew  pies  and 
sot  'em  crossways — one  a  top  o'  tother  and  marched 
off  with  'em !  When  she  got  to  the  door  she  turned 
round,  and  says  she — "  Now  Miss  Bedott,  whenever 
you  want  any  little  favor,  such  as  a  punkin  or  any 
thing  else  I've  got  that  you  hain't  got — don't  scruple 
to  ask  for 't — it  always  affords  me  the  greatest  gratifica- 
tion to  dew  a  nabor  a  kindness."  Arter  she  'd  gone,  I 
iookt  at  Melissy  and  Melissy  lookt  at  me  in  a  perfect 
state  o'  dumfounderment!  we  was  so  bethunderstruck, 
't  was  as  much  as  five  minnits  I  guess  afore  ary  one  of 
us  spoke  a  word.  At  last  says  Melissy  says  she, 
•''Did  you  ever!"  "No,  never!  never!"  says  I,  and 
then  we  sot  up  such  a  tremendous  laff  that  Kier  heerd 
us  (he  was  to  work  out  door),  and  he  came  in  to  see 
what  was  the  matter,  so  I  told  him — and  good  gra- 
cious how  he  did  roar !  I  tell  you,  he  hain't  never  let 
me  hear  the  last  o'  that  punkin — I  don't  know  to  this 
day  whether  Miss  Jinkins  knowd  I  stewed  up  the  hull 
o'  the  punkin  to  once  or  not — but  I  dew  raly  bleve  if 
she  had  a  knowd  it,  't  we  uldent  a  made  a  speck  o'  dif- 
ference about  her  taken  the  pies,  for  she  was  always 
ie  very  squintessence  o'  meanness.  Land  o'  liberty! 
Its  nine  o'clock — I  'd  ought  to  ben  hum  an  hour  ago 
3* 


58  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

Now,  Mr.  Crane,  I  dew  hope  you  '11  take  care  o'  yerself 
in  season,  and  take  my  medicine — I'll  send  Kier  over 
with  it  as  soon  as  I  get  hum — ana  min'd  you  take  a 
gret  spunful  night  and  mornin'  as  long  as  you  have 
any  pain  in  yer  chist — it 's  a  wonderful  help  to 't.  And 
dew  be  kerful  about  egsposin  yerself  to  the  cold  air — 
don't  go  out  without  rappin'  up  warm — remember  the 
equinoxical  storms  is  a  comin'  on  soon,  and  them's 
dretful  bad  for  invalidders.  0  Mr.  Crane,  't  would  be 
an  awful  thing  if  you  shoulgl  be  took  away !  I  can't 
bear  to  think  on't — excuse  my  cryin',  Mr.  Crane — I 
can't  help  it — I  dew  feel  such  an  interest  in  yer  family 
and — I  hope  you  wont  think  I'm  forrard,  Mr.  Crane 
—but  I  dew — I  dew — I  dew— set  a  great  deal — by 
you,  Mr.  Crane. 


VI. 

f  Jt  (Ki&flto  f  0m  Jer  §m. 

JITELISSY!  Melissy!  Melissy  Bedott!  Why, 
what  on  arth  's  come  o'  the  critter !  I'm  sure 
she  went  up  chamber  a  spell  ago,  to  fix  up,  and  I 
ain't  seen  her  come  down  sence.  You  set  down, 
gals,  and  I'll  jest  run  up  and  see  'f  she 's  there.  Why, 
Melissy,  what  in  natur  do  you  mean  by  keepin'  me  a 
yellin'  all  night  ?  Did  anser,  hey  ?  well,  you  'd  ought 
to  leave  yer  door  open  so's  a  body  could  hear  you, 
and  not  be  obleeged  to  trot  way  up  here  arter  you. 
Come  down,  right  off.  Seliny,  and  Mirandy  Crane's 
down  stairs — they  want  you  to  go  to  the  Phreenyogi- 
cal  lectur  with  'em.  Ther  par  's  a  gwine,  but  he 's 
bizzy  and  ain't  ready  yit,  and  he  told  'em  not  to  wait 
for  him,  'cause  it  might  be  late  afore  he  fcould  git 
away.  So  they  come  arter  us,  'cause  they  dident  like 
to  go  alone.  Me  gwine  ?  Why  yes,  to  be  sure — why 
shouldent  I?  I  never  heerd  a  phreenyogical  lectur, 
and  I  've  got  considerable  curosty  to  see  what  'tis. 
I  '11  go  put  on  my  things.  Melissy  '11  be  down  in  a 
minit  She  insists  on 't  I  shall  go,  tew,  and  I  guess  ] 


60       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

will — I  always  thought  I  should  like  to  hear  one  o' 
them  kind  o'  lecturs.  (They  enter  the  lecture  room.) 
Less  go  back  side,  as  fur  away  from  the  stove  as  we 
can  git,  it 's  so  awful  hot  here.  What !  you  afeard  o' 
the  men  folks,  Mirandy  ?  I  don't  care  if  'tis  right 
amongst  the  loafers  and  boys.  I  never  see  that  man 
yit,  nor  boy  nother,  't  I  was  afeard  on.  Gracious 
sakes  alive  1  dew  look  o'  them  dead  folkses  heads  on 
the  table!  What  awful  looking  things  they  be! 
Made  o'  plaster,  hey  ?  Well,  I  'm  glad  on 't — shan't 
feel  so  dizgusted  lookin'  at  'em  as  I  should  if  they 
was  rael  heads.  What  a  curus  lookin'  critter  that 
lecturer  is,  ain't  he  ?  How  he  has  got  his  hair  all 
scraped  up !  makes  him  look  kind  o'  skairt.  Name 's 
Mr.  Yanderbump,  ain't  it?  Wonder  if  that  are  wo- 
man without  a  bunnit  on 's  Miss  Yanderbump  ?  What 
an  awful  big  head  she 's  got !  Her  forrid  's  all  bare, 
tew — how  it  sticks  out !  Sign  of  intellect  ?  Goody 
grievous !  I  wouldent  care  for  that.  If  I  had  such  a. 
humbly  face  I  'd  keep  it  kivered  up,  wouldent  you  ? 
Dew  see !  there  comes  Sam  Pendergrasses  wife,  with 
that  everlastin'  boy  o'  hern.  She  takes  that  young 
one  every  where — and  he  always  acts  like  Sanko.  I 
guess  she  '11  find  it  purty  warm  there,  right  aside  o' 
the  stove.  Look,  Seliny  !  there 's  Cappen  Canoot — 
I  '11  bet  a  cookey  he  called  for  me.  Well,  I  'm  glad  I  'd 
come  away  afore  he  'd  got  there.  I  don't  want  none 
o'  his  company.  I  don't  know  what  he  expects  to 


THE    WIDOW    LOSES    HER    BEAU.          6] 

gain  by  stickin'  round  me  so*  I  hain't  never  gin  him 
no  incurridgement,  and  don't  intend  tew.  Of  all 
things !  if  there  ain't  Major  Goon's  wife,  with  that 
flambergasted  old  icd  hood  o'  hern  onl  Dew,  for 
pity's  sake,  see  how  sLe  sails  along.  And  then,  there 
comes  the  Major  grinin'  along  behind  her,  as  if  she 
was  the  eend  o'  the  law.  I  s'pose  if  ever  a  man  was 
completely  under  his  wife's  thumb,  Major  Coon  is. 
But  they  say  he  thinks  she  's  clear  perfection ;  well, 
it 's  well  ther  's  somebody  thinks  so.  Kier  was  tellin'  a 
speech  old  Green  made  about  her  t'  other  day.  Old 
Green's  a  musical  old  critter,  you  know ;  well,  he  was 
in  Smith's  store,  and  Kier  was  there,  and  Major  Coon, 
and  ^  number  of  other  men.  The  Major  was  a  talkin' 
about  his  wife — you  know  how  he  'a  forever  talkin' 
about  her — well,  he  was  a  praisin'  on  her  up,  tellin' 
how  smart,  and  keen,  and  industrous  she  was,  and  all 
that.  Byrne  by  he  went  out,  and  says  old  Green,  says 
he,  "The  Major  does  think  his  wife  's  the  very  dyvtt, 
and  so  do  I,  tew"  Old  Green  'd  no  bizness  to  said  it, 
but  when  Kier  told  on  't,  I  couldent  help  laffin'.  W  ell 
done !  If  there  ain't  the  widder  Jinkins !  I  wonder 
if  ever  any  thing  goes  on  in  "Wiggletown  without  that 
woman's  bein'  on  the  spot !  I  never  did  see  any  body 
BO  beset  to  go  as  she  is.  If  I  was  her  I  would  stay  to 
hum  jest  once,  so  's  to  see  how  't  would  seem — would- 
Bnt  you  ? 
There  I  Mr.  Vanderbump  is  agwine  to  begin  I  (The 


62       WILOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

lecturer  expatiates  on  the  wonderful  science  of  Phre- 
nology- -gives  a  history  of  the  various  specimens — • 
points  out  the  organs,  etc.,  etc.,  and  just  as  he  concludes 
this  part  of  the  performance,  Mr.  Crane  enters.)  Se- 
liny — I  dew  begin  to  feel  ruther  timniorsome  settin'  here 
with  all  them  rowdies  behind  us — don't  you?  If  we 
had  a  gentleman  with  us  I  shouldent  feel  oneasy, 
should  you  ?  Ain't  that  yer  par  over  yonder  ? — s'pose 
you  go  ax  him  to  come  and  set  here  long  with  us — I 
should  feel  safer — [Selina  goes  and  returns  with  hei 
father,  who  sits  down  beside  the  widow.]  Good  eve- 
nin',  Mr.  Crane !  I  hope  you  won't  take  it  amiss,  my 
sendin'  for  you  to  come  and  set  over  here,  for  I  raly 
felt  as  if  I  should  fly  away,  with  all  those  ere  loafers 
right  behind  us — was  afeard  they  'd  say  something 
sassy  tew  us.  And  then,  tew,  I  was  expectin'  every 
minit  when  old  Canoot  would  be  makin'  a  dive  for 
this  quarter — and  I  know'd  he  would  n't  if  he  see  yon 
here.  0,  Mr.  Crane,  you  can't  imagine  how  I  dew 
dred  that  critter.  I  couldent  bear  the  idee  a'  havin' 
on  him  go  hum  with  me  to-night — don't  want  t'  incur- 
ridge  him.  How  do  you  feel  this  evenin',  Mr.  Crane  ? 
better  'n  you  did,  hey  ?  well,  I  dew  feel  thankful  for  't 
Took  them  skoke  berries  and  rum,  did  you  ?  Well, 
that  's  what  helped  you,  depend  on't — but  you 
mustent  git  slack  about  takin'  on 't— stick  tew  it  faith 
Cully.  Hadent  you  better  take  yer  comforter  off 
yer  neck  till  you  go  out?  you  won't  be  so  likely 


THE    WIDOW    LOSES    HER    BEAtJ.  63 

to  ketch  cole1.  You  've  got  to  be  kerful — very  kerful, 
Mr.  Crane — you.  need  somebody  to  see  tew  you  all  the 
time  and  make  you  kerful,  the  gals  is  young  and 
thoughtless,  and  don't  think  on  't — but  that  ain'  FUT- 
prisin'.  I  'm  sorry  you  wa'n't  here  sooner,  Mr.  Crane. 
This  'ere  phreenyology  's  the  curusest,  thing  I  ever 
did  see.  Did  you  ever  see  any  thing  to  beat  it — how 
he  can  tell  an  individiwars  character  so  egxactly  by 
the  looks  o'  their  heads  ?  don't  seom  to  me  as  if  it 
could  be  so — does  it  to  you  ?  I  can't  raclize  I  've  got 
such  a  numerous  number  of  organs  in  my  bead — can 
you? — 0,  Mr.  Crane;  what  a  musical  man  you  be! 
you  '11  make  me  die  a  laffin !  Seliny  S  jest  hear  what 
your  par  says.  I  axed  him  if  he  could  raelizc  he  had 
BO  many  organs  in  his  head — anc*  he  said  how't 
t'  other  day  when  he  had  such  a  tumble  cold  ii>  it,  it 
seemed  is  if  there  was  organs,  and  fiddles,  and  drums, 
and  everything  else  in't — did  you  ever? — I  wish 
you  'd  a  ben  here  sooner,  Mr.  Crane,  to  hear  Mr.  Yan- 
derbump's  exparigate  about  them  heads — he  gin  a  de 
scription  of  the  people  they  belonged  tew — and  told 
how  ther  characters  was  accordin'  to  ther  heads 
That  are  big  head — the  one  that  runs  up  to  such  a 
peak  on  top — he  says  that 's  Scott  the  celebrated  au- 
thor— I  s'pose  it 's  the  one  that  writ  "  Scott's  Com- 
montaries  "  on  the  Scripters.  He  says  it 's  a  wonder- 
ful intillectible  head :  no  doubt  on 't — husband  sot  a 
e^ret  deal  by  his  Commentaries — used  to  borrer  'em  o' 


64:  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

parson  Potter — Mr.  Scott  must  a'  ben  a  smart  man  to 
write  'em.  That  are  small  curus  shaped  one  on  the 
corner — that 's  the  head  of  an  underwitted  critter  that 
died  in  one  o'  the  poor  houses— hain't  got  no  intellec- 
tible  organs  at  all.  That  are  skull  that  sets  behind 
Mr.  Scott — that 's  Old  Gribbs  the  pyrit,  that  was  exte- 
cuted  a  number  o'  years  ago — he  was  a  turrible  old 
Tilling.  Mr.  Vaaderbump  said  that  was  old  Gibb'a 
skull  positively  bony  fidy.  That  is — it 's  giniwine 
bones — the  rest  on  'em's  made  o'  plaster.  But  that 
are  head  that  sets  aside  o'  the  commentater — the  one 
that 's  got  such  a  langlin'  under  lip  and  flat  forrid  and 
runs  out  to  such  a  pint  behind — that 's  old  mother 
O'Killem,  the  Irish  woman  that  murdered  so  many 
folks — she  was  an  awful  critter.  He  said  't  wa'n't  to 
be  disputed  thoagh,  that  she'd  done  a  master  sight  o' 
good  to  menkind — he  reckoned  they  ought  to  raise  a 
moniment  tew  her — 'cause  any  body  that  lookt  at  her 
head  couldent  persume  no  longer  to  doubt  the  truth  o' 
phreenyology.  He  told  us  to  obsarve  the  shape  on  't 
perticlerly.  You  see  the  forrid 's  dretful  flat — well, 
that  shows  how  't  the  intellectible  faculties  is  intirely 
wantin'.  But  he  dident  call  it  forrid.  He  called  it  the 
hoss  fr&ntis.  I  n'pose  that's  'cause  its  shaped  more 
like  a  QOSS  than  a  human  critter — animal  propensi- 
tudes  intirely  predominates,  you  know.  That 's  what 
makes  it  stick  out  so  on  the  back  side — that's  the 
hosskindia  I  s'poso— hoss  frontis  and  hosshindis,  you 


THE    T7IPOW    LOSES    HER    BEAU.          C5 

know.  I  felt  oncomonly  interested  when  lie  was  a 
tellin'  about  her,  'cause  I've  read  all  about  her  in 
"  Horrid  Murders  " — a  book  I  Ve  got — it 's  the  inter- 
estinest  book  I  Ve  read  in  all  my  life.  It 's  enough  to 
make  yer  hair  stand  on  eend.  I've  ben  over  it  I 
guess  half  a  dozen  times — and  it  seems  interestiner 
every  time.  Husband  got  it  of  a  pedlar  the  year  aforo 
he  died,  and  he  used  to  take  an  amazin'  deal  o'  com- 
fort readin'  on  't.  Time  and  agin  I  Ve  knowd  that 
man  to  lie  awake  half  the  night  arter  he  'd  ben  readin' 
in  "  Horrid  Murders."  He  was  narvous,  you  know — 
I  feel  wonderfully  attached  to  that  book  'cause  't  was 
such  a  favorite  o'  husband's.  Every  thing  't  was  dear 
to  husband  is  dear  to  me — Mr.  Crane — that 's  one  rea- 
son why  I  set  store  by  you — he  reckoned  on  you  so 
much.  I  '11  lend  you  that  book  Mr.  Crane — you  11  be 
delighted  with  it.  You  can  jest  step  in  with  me  when 
we  go  hum  and  I  '11  let  you  take  it.  You  11  be 
amazinly  pleased  with  the  account  o'  Miss  O'Killem. 
She  murdered  five  husbands  and  a  number  of  other  in- 
dividiwals,  and  it  tells  all  how  she  killed'each  one  on 
'em.  Some  she  cut  ther  throats  and  some  she  burnt, 
and  some  she  chopped  to  pieces.  0  'tis  awful  interest- 
in'.  "What  did  you  say,'  Mr.  Crane  ?  That  gal  with 
such  red  cheeks  settin'  right  by  the  table,  do  you  mean 
0,  that  is  Kesier  Winkle,  she  always  contrives  to  get 
a  seat  where  she  '11  be  seen.  She  takes  quite  a  notion 
to  Kier — but  I  guess  she  '11  miss  a  figger  there.  Kier 


66       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEKS. 

Bedolfc  ain't  a  feller  to  be  drawd  in  by  a  purty  faco — 
he  wants  something  besides  that — tho'  I  never  thought 
she  was  so  wonderful  handsome,  do  you — her  cheeks 
is  red  to  be  sure,  but  every  body  can  have  such  a  col 
or  if  they  want — you  understand,  hey  1  tho'  tain't  for 
me  to  say  she  paints,  never  standin'  there  is  them  that 
says  so.  I  'm  very  glad  Kier  don't  think  o'  havin'  on 
her — I  never  did  like  the  Winkles.  Old  Winkle  's  a 
hard  old  case,  and  they  dew  say  Kesier  's  considerable 
like  him. 

There  1  I  guess  Miss  Pendergrass  has  got  roasted 
out — she 's  a  comin'  this  way  with  her  admyrable  boy 
— don't  see  what  she  wants  to  crowd  in  here  for — 
should  think  she  might  find  a  seat  somewhere  else — 
shouldent  you  ?  (Mr.  Crane  relinquishes  his  seat  to 
Mrs.  Pendergrass  and  takes  the  one  she  left.)  Good 
evenin',  Miss  Pendergrass !  found  yer  sittivation  rather 
warm,  hey  ?  Well — /  make  it  a  pint  never  to  change 
my  seat  in  meetins  and  lecturs  and  such  places,  when 
other  folks  is  obleeged  to  change  theirn  t'  accommer- 
date  me.  I  think  /can  afford  to  be  oncomfortable  as 
well  as  other  folks  can< — hope  Mr.  Crane  won't  ketch 
his  death  a  cold  when  he  goes  out,  on  account  o'  bry- 
lin'  and  stewin'  there  by  the  stove — he  ain't  well  at 
alL  O  don't  git  up,  Miss  Pendergrass — dew  sit  still 
now  you've  got  here.  What  a'curus  consarn  this 
phreenyology  is,  ain't  it  ?  What  an  age  of  improve- 
ment we  live  in !  If  any  body  M  a  told  us  onco 


THE    WIDOW    LOSES    HER    BEAU.          67 

how't  in  a  few  year  we'd  be  able  to  tell  egzackly 
what  folks  was  by  the  shape  o'  ther  heads— we  would- 
ent  a  bleeved  a  word  on't — would  we  ?  You  remem- 
ber readin'  about  old  mother  O'Killem,  in  that  are 
book  I  lent  you,  don't  you  ?  Well,  he 's  mistaken 
about  one  thing  relatin'  to  her.  He  says  she  killed 
the  niggar  wer.ch  by  choppin'  off  her  head — now 
•t  wa'n't  so — she  stomped  on  her — I  remember  just 
how  't  was,  don't  you  ?  Ain't  his  wife  a  tumble  hum 
bly  woman  ?  Her  head  looks  jist  like  a  punMn',  and 
tisen  looks  like  a  cheese,  don't  it?  You  gwine  to 
Lear  her  lectur  to  the  ladies  to-morrer  ?  Guess  /shall 
— if  it  *s  as  interestin'  a  lectur  as  hisen,  it  '11  be  worth 
hearin' — though  I  don't  think  much  o'  these  here 
wimmin  lecturers,  no  way — the  best  place  for  wmi- 
min  's  to  hum — a  mindin'  taeir  own  bizness,  accordin' 
to  my  notions.  You  remember  that  one  that  come 
round  a  spell  ago,  a  whalin'  away  about  human  rights. 
I  thought  she  'd  ought  to  be  hoss-whipt  and  shot  up 
in  jail,  dident  you?  Dew,  for  pity's  sake,  look  at 
Major  Coon's  wife  a  blowin'  herself  with  her  pocket- 
handkercher !  Did  you  see  her  when  she  come  in? 
Dident  she  cut  a  spludge,  tho'  ?  I  never  did  see  such 
an  affected  critter  as  she  is  in  all  my  born  days.  "When 
you  see  any  body  put  on  such  airs  as  she  does,  you  may 
be  sure  they  was  raised  up  out  o'  the  dirt.  They  're 
what  Kier  calls  "the  mud  aristocrasy."  She  gwine 
to  have  a  party  Thursday  evenin'  ?  How  you  talk ! 


68        WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

— how  did  you  hear  ? — told  you  herself,  hey  ?  Is  she 
gwine  to  have  married  folks  and  young  folks  both  ? 
Well,  them  's  the  right  kind  o'  parties — enough  sight 
pleasanter  'n  where  they  're  all  married  folks  or  all 
voung  folks — don't  you  think  so  ?  Well,  I  should 
think  she'd  have  a  party — hain't  never  gin  a  reglar 
smasher  yit — and  they  're  able  to  dew  it.  It's  pleasant 
to  git  a  body's  friends  and  nabors  together — has  an 
attendancy  to  permote  sociabilitude.  I  always  thought 
Miss  Coon  was  a  nice  woman.  Folks  has  a  p^ood  deal 
to  say  about  her,  cause  she  was  a  hired  gal  when  ste 
was  young— -but  I  never  thought  'twas  ary  thing 
against  her — Miss  Jinkins  used  to  run  her  down  dret- 
fdly  afore  they  got  to  be  so  intimit — and  whenever 
she  used  to  begin  a  slanderin'  Miss  Coon  afore  me,  I 
always  made  it  a  pint  to  Stan'  up  for  her.  I  've  some- 
times thought  she  was  rufher  affected — hain't  you  ? — 
but  then  you  know  it 's  natral  for  some  folks  to  be 
affected — I  hope  Mr.  Crane's  settin'  with  rao  to-night 
won't  make  any  talk.  I  shouldent  wonder  tho'  if  it 
should — it  don't  take  nothin'  to  make  a  story  in  Wig" 
gletown — but  I  couldent  git  up  and  go  off,  you  know 
when  he  come  and  sot  down  by  me — 1;  wouldent  a  ben 
perlite — s'pose  you  're  heerd  he  'd  called  t'  our  house 
a  number  o'  times  ?  Hain't  ? — well  that 's  curus — it 's 
all  over  town.  I  wish  folks  wouldent  be  gitten'  up 
such  reports  about  me.  Mr.  Crane 's  a  fine  man — a 
very  fine  man — but  if  folks  thinks  I've  any  idee  o' 


THE    WIDOW    LOSES    HER    BEAU.          69 

changin'  my  condition  at  present,  they  're  mistaken 
I  hain't  begun  to  think  about  no  such  thing  yit.  1 
think  it 's  a  pity  if  Mr.  Crane  can't  call  t'  our  house 
once  in  a  while,  without  the  hull  naborhood  bein'.  in 
a  blaze  about  it — I  eny  most  hope  he  won't  see  me 
hum  to-night — cause  that  would  make  folks  say  't  was 
a  gone  case  with  us  sartin  sure.  I  see  Kier  come  in 
a  spell  ago — hope  he  Ti  go  with  me — though  I  s'pose 
he 's  come  a  purpose  to  go  hum  with  some  o'  the  gals. 
There !  the  lectur's  out — Seliny,  wait  a  minnit  till  the 
crowd  gits  along — I  don't  want  to  be  squashed  to 
death — look;  Miss  Pendergrass !  dew  see  the  widder 
Jinking  a  squeezin'  up  along  side  o'  Mr.  Crane — did 
you  ever !  if  that  ain't  rich  I  I  guess  if  she  thinks 
she 's  a  gwine  to  ketch  him  she  's  mistaken.  As  true 
as  the  world  she 's  look  his  arm,  and  he 's  a  gwine 
hum  with  her  I  "Well — I  '11  bet  forty  great  apples  she 
axed  him  tew.  [The  young  ladies  have  beaux,  and 
Kier  very  dutifully  escorts  his  mother  home,/zwi  as 
she  hoped  he  would] 


YIL 

Ilr.  Con*  afraut  t0  f 

TEST  in  time,  Mr.  Crane — we  Ve  jest  this  minnit 
sot  down  to  tea — draw  up  a  cheer  and  set  by — 
now  don't  say  a  word — I  shan't  take  no  for  an  answer. 
Should  a  had  things  ruther  different  to  be  sure,  if  I  'd 
suspected  you,  Mr.  Crane — but  I  won't  appollygise  — 
appolligies  don't  never  make  nothin'  no  better,  you 
know.  Why,  Melissy,  you  hain't  half  sot  the  table. 
Where  's  the  plum  sass  ?  thought  you  was  a  gwine  to 
git  some  on 't  for  tea.  I  don't  see  no  cake  nother, 
what  a  kerless  gal  you  be  ?  Dew  bring  'eni  on  quick 
— and  Melissy,  dear,  fetch  out  one  o'  them  are  punkin 
pies  and  put  it  a  warmin'.  How  do  you  take  yer  tea, 
Mr.  Crane?  clear,  hey?  how  much  that  makes  me 
think  o'  husband !  he  always  drunk  hisen  clear.  Now 
dew  make  yerself  to  hum,  Mr.  Crane — help  yerself  to 
things.  Do  you  eat  johnny  cake  ?  'cause  if  you  don't 
I  '11  cut  some  wheat  bread — dew  hey?  we  're  all  gret 
hands  for  injin  bread  here,  'specially  Kier.  If  I  don't 
make  a  johnny  cake  every  few  days,  he  says  to  me, 
eays  he,  "  Mar,  why  don't  you  make  some  injin  bread? 


MB   CBANB  ABOvC  xO  PKOFOSE    71 

it  seems  as  if  we  hadent  never  had  none."  Melissy 
pass  the  cheeze.  Kier,  see  't  Mr.  Crane  has  butter 
This  ere  butter 's  a  leetle  grain  frowy.  I  don't  want 
you  to  think  it 's  my  make,  for  Jt  ain't — Sam  Fender- 
grasses  wife  (she  'twas  Sally  Smith)  she  boirered  but- 
ter o'  me  'tother  day,  and  this  'ere  's  wtat  she  sent 
back.  I  wouldent  a  had  it  on  if  I  'd  suspected  com- 
pany. How  do  you  feel  to-day,  Mr.  Crane  ?  Dident 
take  no  cold  last  night  ?  well,  I  'm  glad  on  't,  I  was 
raly  afeared  you  would,  the  lectur  room  was  so  tum- 
ble hot  I  was  eny  most  roasted,  and  I  wa'n't  drest 
wonderful  warm  nother,  had  on  my  green  silk  man- 
killer — and  that  ain't  very  thick.  Take  a  pickle,  Mr. 
Crane — I  'm  glad  you  're  a  favorite  o'  pickles.  I  think 
pickles  is  a  delightful  beveridge — don't  feel  as  if  I 
could  make  out  a  meal  without  'em — once  in  a  while 
I  go  a  .visitin'  where  they  don't  have  none  on  the 
table — and  when  I  git  hum  the  fust  thing  I  dew  's  to 
dive  for  the  buttry  and  git  a  pickle.  But  husband 
couldent  eat  'ern — they  was  like  pizen  tew  him.  Me- 
lissy never  eats  'em  nother — she  ain't  no  pickle  hand 
Some  gals  eats  pickles  to  make  'em  grow  poor,  but 
Melissy  hain't  no  such  foolish  notions.  I  've  bruug 
her  up  so  she  sliouldent  have.  "Why — I  've  heerd  o' 
gals  drinkin'  vinegar  to  thin  'em  off  and  make  ther 
shin  delekit.  They  say  Kesier  Winkle — why  Eaer, 
what  be  you  pokin*  the  sass  at  Mr.  Crane  for  ?  Melissy 
jest  helped  him.  T  heered  Carline  Gallup  say  how 't 


72  V7I1>OW    B3DOTT    PAPERS. 

Kesier  Winkle — why  Kier  what  dew  you  mean  by 
offerin'  ihe  cold  pork  to  Mr.  Crane  ?  jest  as  if  he 
wanted  pork  for  his  tea !  you  see  Kier 's  ben  over  to 
the  Holler  to  day  on  bizness  with  old  uncle  Dawson, 
and  he  some  num  with  quite  an  appertite — says  to 
me.  says  he  "  Mar,  dew  set  on  some  cold  pork  and 
taters,  for  I  'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear."  Lemme  fill  up 
yer  cup,  Mr.  Crane.  Melissy,  bring  on  that  are  pie,  1 
guess  it's  warm  by  this  time.  There!  I  don't  think 
any  body  'd  say  that  punkin  was  burnt  a  stewin'. 
Take  another  pickle,  Mr.  Crane.  0, 1  was  a  gwine  to 
tell  what  Carline  Gallup  said  about  Kesier  Winkle, 
Carline  Gallup  was  a  manty  maker — what,  Kierr 
rather  apt  to  talk  ?  well,  I  know  she  was — but  then 
she  used  to  be  sowin'  't  old  Winkle's  about  half  the 
time,  and  she  know'd  purty  well  what  went  on  there 
— yes — I  know  sowin'  gals  is  ginerally  tattlers.  It 's  a 
tumble  bad  trait  in  any  body — 'specially  in  them — 
they  hain't  no  bizness  to  go  round  from  house  to 
house  a  tellin'  what  guz  on  among  folks  that  finds 
'em  ther  bread  and  butter.  I  never  incurridge  'em  in 
it.  When  I  have  manty  makers  to  work  for  me — as 
sure  as  they  undertake  to  insiniwate  any  thing  aginst 
any  o'  my  nabors — I  tell  ye,  I  shet  'em  up  quicker — 
but  I  was  gwine  to  tell  what  Carline  Gallup  said — 
Carline  was  a  very  stiddy  gal — she  was  married  about 
a  year  ago — married  Jo  Bennet — Philander  Bennet's 
son — you  remember  Phil  Bennet,  don't  you,  Mr 


ME.  CKANE  ABOUT  TO  PROPOSE.    78 

Crane  ?  he  't  was  killed  so  sudding  over  to  Gander- 
field?  Though  come  to  think,  it  must  a  ben  arter 
you  went  away  from  here.  He  'd  moved  over  to 
Ganderfield  the  spring  afore  he  was  killed.  Well,  one 
day  in  hayin'-time  he  was  to  work  in  the  hay -field — 
take  another  piece  o'  pie,  Mr.  Crane — 0  dew — I  insist 
on 't.  Well,  he  was  to  work  in  the  hay-field,  and  he 
fell  off  the  hay -stack.  I  s'pose  't  wouldent  a  killed 
him  if  it  hadent  a  ben  for  his  comin'  kersmash  onto  a 
jug  that  was  a  settin'  on  the  ground  aside  o'  the  stack. 
The  spine  of  his  back  went  right  onto  the  jug  and 
broke  it — firoke  his  back,  I  mean — not  the  jug — that 
wa'n't  even  cracked — curus!  wa'n't  it?  'Twas  quite 
a  comfort  to  Miss  Bennet  in  her  affliction — 't  was  a  jug 
she  vallyed — one  't  was  her  mother's.  His  bein'  killed 
so  was  ^  tumble  blow  to  Miss  Bennet,  the  circum- 
stances was  so  aggravatin'.  I  writ  a  piece  o'  poitry 
on  the  occasion  and  sent  it  tew  her ;  she  said  't  was 
quite  oonsolin'.  It  says: 

O  Ganderfield  I 

Where  is  thy  shield 
To  guard  against  grim  Death  f 

He  aims  his  gun 

At  old  and  young, 
And  fires  away  their  breath  I 

One  summer's  day 

For  to  'tend  tew  his  hay, 
Mr.  Bennet  went  to  the  medder— 

Fell  down  from  the  stack — 

Broke  the  spine  of  his  back, 
And  left  a  mournin'  widdor  1 
4 


74  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

:T  was  occasioned  by  his  landin' 
On  a  jug  that  was  standin' 
.Alongside  o'  the  stack  o'  hay — 

Some  folks  say  'twas  what  was  in  it 
Caused  the  fall  of  Mr.  Beunet, 
But  ther  ain't  a  word  of  truth  in  what  they  say— 

'Tuas  true,  though,  and  I  know'd  it,  but  of  course  1 
wouldent  a  had  Miss  Bennet  s'pose  I  did  for  ail  crea- 
tion. She  sticks  to 't  to  this  day  't  was  molasses  and 
water  't  was  in  the  jug.  That 's  a  likely  story ! 
Why !  't  was  a  common  report  for  better  'n  a  year 
afore  he  was  killed,  that  Phil  Bennet  was  a  gittin  on- 
steady,  but  I  never  let  Miss  Bennet  know  't  I  had  any 
such  idee.  She  and  me  was  always  quite  intimit. 
She  was  Lorainy  Perce,  old  Peter  Perce's  darter ;  you 
know  I  sot  a  gret  deal  by  Lorainy.  She  took  it  purty 
hard  when  her  husband  was  killed;  she  went  into 
awful  deep  mournin' — mournin'  was  becomin'  tew  her, 
she  was  a  dark  complected  woman ;  and  she  wa'n't 
satisfied  with  wearin'  mournin  herself,  't  wa'n't  enough, 
she  even  put  black  caliker  bed-kivers  onto  her-  bed. 
I  remember  she  had  a  black  canton  crape  gowni  all 
trimmed  with  crape ;  but  she  dident  wear  her  mourn- 
in'  long,  for  she  got  married  agin  in  about  three 
months — married  a  man  by  the  name  o'  Higgins — 
carpenter  and  jiner  by  trade:  got  acquainted  with 
him  over  in  Yarmount,  when  she  was  there  a  visitin' 
tew  her  sister's — quite  a  forehanded  man.  But  I  was 
a  sayin'  that  poitry — where  had  I  got  tew!  01  I 
know: 


MB   CRANE  ABOUT  TO  PROPOSE.   75 

How  folks  can  slander 
Such  a  man  as  Philander 
Bennet  's  a  mystery  to  me — 

Less  see — what  comes  next? 


a  mystery  to  me — 

a  mystary  to  me — 

Plague  on 't !  what 's  the  reason  I  can't  remember  it? 

Such  a  man  as  Philander 
Bennet 's  a  mystery  to  me — 

Well — I  dew  declare !  'tis  curus  how  that 's  slipt  out 
o'  my  mind ;  dew  lemme  see  'f  I  can't  ketch  it — 


How  folks  can  slander 
Such  a  man  as  Philander 

Bennet 's  a  mystery  to  me 

—a  mystery  to  me — 
to  me — 


Well— I '11  give  it  up— I've  forgot  it—that's  a  settled 
pint.  It 's  queer,  tew — it 's  the  fust  time  I  ever  dis- 
remembered  any  o'  my  poitry — but  it  can't  be  helped 
• — mabby  it  '11  come  tew  me  some  time.  If  it  does, 
1 11  write  it  down  and  show  it  to  you,  Mr.  Crane — I 
know  you  'd  be  pleased  with  it.  Take  another  cup  o' 
tea,  Mr.  Crane.  Why !  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  Ve 
got  done  supper!  ain't  you  gwine  to  take  nothin' 
more  ?  no  more  o'  the  pie  ?  nor  the  sass  ?  well,  won't 
you  have  another  pickle?  0,  that  reminds  me— I 
was  a  gwine  to  tell  what  Carline  Gallup  said  about 


76  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS 

Kesier  Winkle.  Why,  Kier  seems  to  me  you  ain't 
very  perlite  to  leave  the  table  afore  any  body  else 
does.  O,  yes,  I  remember  now,  it's  singin'-school 
night — I  s'pose  it 's  time  you  was  ofi^  Melissy— you 
want  to  go  tew  don't  you  ?  well,  I  guess  Mr.  Crane  '11 
excuse  you.  We  '11  jest  see  the  table  back  agin  the 
wall — I  won't  dew  the  dishes  jest  now.  Me  and  Me- 
lissy does  the  work  ourselves,  Mr.  Crane.  I  hain't 
kept  no  gal  sence  Melissy  was  big  enough  t1  aid  and 
assist  me — I  think  help  's  more  plague  than  profit. 
No  woman  that  has  grow'd  up  darters  needent  keep 
help  if  she 's  brung  up  her  gals  as  she  'd  ought  tew. 
Melissy,  dear,  put  on  yer  cloak,  it's  a  purty  tejus 
evenin'.  Kier,  you  tie  up  yer  throat,  you  know  you 
was  complainin'  of  a  soreness  in  't  to-day — and  you 
must  be  kerful  to  tie  it  up  when  you  come  hum — it 's 
dangerous  t'  egspose  yerself  arter  singin' — apt  to  give 
a  body  the  browncritters — and  that 's  farrible — you 
couldent  sing  any  more  if  you  should  git  that,  you 
know.  You'd  oetter  call  for  Mirandy  and.  Seliny, 
naient  you?  Don't  be  out  late. 

Now,  Mr.  Crane,  draw  up  to  the  stove — you  must 
be  chilly  off  there.  You  gwine  to  the  party  to  Major 
Coon's  day  after  to-morrow  ?  S'pose  they  '11  give  out 
ther  invitations  to-morrow.  Dew  go,  Mr.  Crane,  it  'U 
chirk  you  up  and  dew  you  good  to  go  out  into  socierty 
agin.  They  say  it's  to  be  quite  numerous.  But  I 
guess  ther  won't  be  no  dancin'  nor  highty  tighty 


MR      CRANE    ABOUT    TO    PROPOSE.         77 

dewins.  If  I  thought  ther  v,  ould,  I  shouldent  go  my 
self,  for  I  don't  approve  on  'era,  and  couldent  counte- 
nance 'em.  What  do  you  think  Sam  Pendergrasses 
wife  told  me  ?  she  said  how 't  the  widder  Jinkins  (she 
't  was  Poll  Bingham)  is  a  havin'  a  new  gownd  made  a 
purpose  to  wear  to  the  party — one  o'  these  'ere  flam- 
bergasted,  blazin'  plaid  consarns — with  tew  awful 
wide  kaiterin  flounces  round  the  skirt!  Did  you 
ever !  How  reedickilous  for  a  woman  o'  her  age,  ain't 
it  ?  I  s'pose  she  expects  t'  astonish  the  natyves,  and 
make  her  market  tew,  like  enough — well,  she  's  to  be 
pitied.  0,  Mr.  Crane  I  I  thought  I  should  go  off  last 
night  when  I  see  that  old  critter  squeeze  up  and  hook 
onto  you.  How  tumble  imperdent — wa'n't  it  ?  But 
seems  to  me,  I  shouldent  a  felt  as  if  I  was  obleeged 
to  went  hum  with  her  ii  I  'd  a  ben  in  your  place,  Mr. 
Crane,  She  made  a  purty  speech  about  me  to  the 
lectur — I'm  a'most  ashamed  to  tell  you  on 't,  Mr. 
Crane — but  it  shows  what  the  critter  is  Kier  said  he 
heered  her  stretch  her  neck  acrost  and  whisper  to  old 
Green,  "  Mr.  Green,  don't  you  think  the  Widder  Be- 
dott  seems  to  be  wonderfully  took  up  with  craniolcgy. 
She 's  the  brazin-facedest  critter  t'  ever  lived — it  does 
leal-  all — I  never  did  see  her  equill — but  IT  taken  all 
sorts  c'  folks  to  make  up  the  world  you  know.  Wiiai 
did  I  understand  you  to  say,  Mr.  Crane? — a  few 
minnits  conversation  with  me? — deary  me !  Is  it  any 
thing  pertickeler,  Mr.  Crane  I  O,  dear  suz  I  how  you 


T8  WIDOW    BEDOTT   PAPEBS. 

dew  flustrate  me !  not  that  it 's  any  thing  oncommon 
for  the  gentlemen  to  ax  to  have  privite  conversations 
with  me  you  know — but  then — but  then — bein'  you — 
it 's  different — circumstances  alters  cases  you  know — 
what  was  you  a  gwine  to  say,  Mr.  Crano  ? 


vm. 

.glr.  Crane  Malfts  ®tit« 

NO,  Mr.  Crane,  by  no  manner  o'  means,  't  ain't  a 
minnit  tew  soon  for  you  to  begin  to  talk  about 
gittin'  married  agin.  I  am  amazed  you  should  be 
afeerd  I  'd  think  so.  See — how  long 's  Miss  Crane  ben 
dead?  Six  months! — land  o'  Groshen! — why  I've 
know'd  a  number  of  individdiwals  get  married  in  less 
time  than  that.  There  's  Phil  Bennett's  widder  t'  I 
was  a  talkin'  about  jest  now — she  't  was  Louisy  Perce 
— her  husband  hadent  been  dead  but  three  months, 
you  know.  I  don't  think  it  looks  well  for  a  woman 
to  be  in  such  a  hurry — but  for  a  man  it 's  a  different 
thing — circumstances  alters  cases,  you  know.  And 
then,  sittiwated  as  you  be,  Mr.  Crane,  it 's  a  tumble 
thing  for  your  family  to  be  without  a  head  to  superin- 
tend the  domestic  consarns  and  tend  to  the  children — 
to  say  nothin'  o'  yerself,  Mr.  Crane.  You  dew  need  a 
companion,  and  no  mistake.  Six  months  I  Good 
grievous!  Why  Squire  Titus  dident  wait  but  six 
weeks  arter  he  buried  his  fust  wife  afore  he  married 
bis  second,  I  thought  ther  wa'n't  no  partickler  need 


80  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

o'  his  hurry  in'  so,  seem'  his  family  was  all  grow'd  up 
Such  a  critter  as  he  pickt  out,  tew !  't  was  very  on 
suitable — but  every  man  to  his  taste— I  hain't  no  dis- 
persition  to  meddle  with  nobody's  consarns.  There 's 
old  farmer  Dawson,  tew — his  pardner  hain't  ben  dead 
but  ten  months.  To  be  sure  he  ain't  married  yet — 
but  he  would  a  ben  long  enough  ago  if  somebody  I 
know  on  'd  gin  him  any  incurridgement.  But  tain't 
for  me  to  speak  o'  that  matter.  He 's  a  clever  old 
critter  and  as  rich  as  a  Jew — but — lawful  sakes !  he 's 
old  enough  to  be  my  father.  And  there  's  Mr.  Smith 
— Jubiter  Smith — you  know  him,  Mr.  Crane — his  wife 
(she  't  was  Aurory  Pike)  she  died  last  summer,  and 
he 's  ben  squintin'  round  among  the  wimmin  ever 
since,  and  he  may  squint 'for  all  the  good  it '11  dew 
him  as  far  as  I  'm  consarned — tho'  Mr.  Smith's  a  re- 
spectable man — quite  young  and  hain't  no  family — 
very  well  off  tew,  and  quite  intellectible — but  I  tell  yo 
what — I  'm  purty  partickler.  0,  Mr.  Crane  !  it 's  ten 
year  come  Jinniwary  since  I  witnessed  the  expiration 
o'  my  belovid  companion ! — an  oncocimon  long  tiiao 
to  wait,  to  be  sure — but 't  ain't  easy  to  find  any  body 
to  fill  the  place  o'  Hezekier  Redott.  I  think  you  're 
the  most  like  husband  of  ary  individdiwal  I  ever  see, 
Mr.  Crane.  Six  months!  murderation !  curua  you 
should  be  afeard  I  'd  think  't  was  tew  soon — why  I  Ve 
know'd— " 
Mr.  Crane, — "  Well  widder — I  Ve  been  thinking 


MR.    CRANE    WALKS    OUT.  81 

about  taking  another  companion — and  I  thought  I  'd 
ask  you — " 

Widow. — "  0,  Mr.  Crane,  egscuse  my  commotion- 
it  's  so  onexpected.  Jest  hand  me  that  are  bottle  o? 
camfire  oft  the  mantletry  shelf— I'm  ruther  faint- 
dew  put  a  little  mite  on  my  handkercher  and  hold  it 
to  my  nuz.  There — that  11  dew — I  'm  obleeged  tew 
ye — now  I  'm  ruther  more  composed — you  may  per- 
ceed,  Mr.  Crane." 

Mr.  Crane. — ""Well  widder,  I  was  agoing  to  ask 
you  whether — wnether — " 

Widow. — "Continner,  Mr.  Crane — dew — I  know 
it 's  tumble  embarrisin*.  I  remember  when  my  de- 
zeased  husband  made  his  suppositions  to  me,  he  stam- 
mered and  stuttered,  and  was  so  awfully  flustered  it 
did  seem  as  if  he  'd  never  git  it  out  in  the  world,  and 
I  s'pose  it 's  ginerally  the  case,  at  least  it  has  been  with 
all  them  that 's  made  suppositions  to  me — you  see 
they  're  ginerally  oncerting  about  what  kind  of  an  an- 
ser  they  're  agwine  to  git,  and  it  kind  o'  makes  'em 
narvous.  But  when  an  individdiwal  has  reason  to 
s'pose  his  attachment  's  reciperated,  I  don't  see 
what  need  there  is  o'  his  bein'  flustrated — tho'  I  must 
say  it 's  quite  embarrassin'  to  me — pray  continner." 

Mr.  C.—"  Well  then,  1  want  to  know  if  you  're  will- 
ing I  should  have  MeHssy  ?" 

Wtifow. — "  The  dragon !' 

Mr  G— "  I  hain't  said  any  thing  to  her  about  it  yet 

41* 


82       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

— thought  the  proper  way  was  to  get  your  consent 
first.  I  remember  when  I  courted  Trypheny  we  were 
engaged  some  time  before  mother  Kenipe  knew  any 
thing  about  it,  and  when  she  found  it  out  she  was 
quite  put  out  because  I  dident  go  to  her  first.  So 
when  I  made  up  my  mind  about  Melissy,  thinks  me, 
I  '11  dew  it  right  this  time  and  speak  to  the  old  woman 
first — 

Widow. — "  Old  woman,  hey  !  that 's  a  purty  name 
to  call  me ! — amazin'  perlite  tew !  Want  Melissy,  hey ! 
Tribbleation !  gracious  sakes  alive !  well,  I  '11  give  it 
up  now  1  I  always  know'd  you  was  a  simpleton,  Tim 
Crane,  but  I  must  confess  I  dident  think  you  was  quite 
so  big  a  fool — want  Melissy,  dew  ye  ?  If  that  don't 
beat  all !  What  an  everlastin'  old  calf  you  must  be 
to  s'pose  she  'd  look  at  you.  Why,  you  're  old  enough 
to  be  her  father,  and  more  tew — Melissy  ain't  only  in 
her  twenty-oneth  year  What  a  reedickilous  idee  for 
a  man  o'  your  age !  as  gray  as  a  rat  tew  1  I  wonder 
what  this  world  is  a  comin'  tew :  7t  is  astonishin'  what 
fools  old  widdiwers  will  make  o'  themselves!  Have 
Helissy!  Melissy!" 

Mr.  0. — "  Why,  widder,  you  surprise  me — I  'd  no 
idee  of  being  treated  in  this  way  after  you  'd  ben  so 
polite  to  me,  and  made  such  a  fuss  over  me  and  the 
girls." 

Widow. — "  Shet  yer  head,  Tiin  Crane — nun  o'  yer 
sa ss  to  me.  There 's  yer  hat  on  that  are  table,  and 


Shet  yer  head,  Tim  Crane — nun  o'  yer  sass  to  me.  TVwe's  yer  hat,  on  that  are  table, 
and  here's  the  door,  and  the  sooner  you  put  on  one,  ami  march  out  o'  t'other,  the 
batter Vll  be  for  you.— PAQR  83. 


ME.    CRANE    WALKS    OUT.  83 

fiere  's  the  door — and  the  sooner  you  put  on  one  and 
march  out  o'  t'  other,  the  better  it  '11  be  for  you.  And 
I  advise  you  afore  you  try  to  git  married  agin,  to  go 
out  west  and  see  'f  yer  wife's  cold' — and  arter  ye  're 
satisfied  on  that  pint,  jest  put  a  little  lampblack  on 
yer  hair — 't  would  add  to  yer  appearance  ondoubtediy 
and  be  of  sarvice  tew  you  when  you  want  to  flourish 
round  among  the  gals — and  when  ye  Ve  got  yer  hah1 
fixt,  jest  splinter  the  spine  o'  yer  back — 't  wouldent 
hurt  yer  looks  a  mite — you  'd  be  interely  unresistable 
if  you  was  a  leeile  grain  straiter." 

Mr.  G.— "Well,  I  never!" 

Widow. — "Hold  yer  tongue — you  consarned  old 
coot  you — I  tell  ye  there  's  yer  hat  and  there 's  the  door 
—be  off  with  yerself,  quick  metre,  or  I  '11  give  ye  a 
hyst  with  the  broomstick." 

Mr.  <?.— "Gimmenil" 

Widow,  rising. — "  Git  out,  I  say — I  ain't  a  gwine  to 
Stan  here  and  be  insulted  under  my  own  ruff — and  so 
—git  along — and  if  ever  you  darken  my  door  agin, 
or  say  a  word  to  Melissy,  it  '11  be  the  woss  for  you — 
that 'sail" 

Mr.  C.—"  Treemenjous !     What  a  buster  I" 

Widow. — "  (to  'long — go  'long — go  'long,  you  ever- 
lastin'  old  gum.  I  won't  liear  another  word  (stops 
her  ears),  I  won't,  I  won't,  I  won't." 

[Exit  Mr.  Crane. 


*  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

(Enier  Melissa,  accompanied  by  Captain  Canoot") 
"Good  evenin',  cappen  1  Well,  Melissy,  hum  at 
last,  hey  ?  why  dident  you  stay  till  mornin'  ?  purty 
bizress  keepin'  me  up  here  so  late  waitin'  for  you — 
wnen  I  'm  er\y  most  tired  to  death  iornin'  and  workin' 
like  a  slave  all  day ; — ought  to  ben  abed  an  hour  ago. 
Thought  ye  left  me  with  agreeable  company,  hey?  I 
should  like  to  know  what  arthly  reason  you  had  to 
e'pose  old  Cjane's  was  agreeable  to  me?  I  always 
disposed  the  critter — always  thought  he  was  a  tumble 
fool — and  now  T  'm  convinced  on  't.  I  'm  completely 
dizgusted  with  him — and  I  let  him  know  it  to-night. 
I  gin  him  a  piece  o'  my  mind  't  I  guess  he  '11  be  apt  to 
remember  for  a  spell.  I  ruther  think  he  went  off  with 
a  flea  in  his  ear.  Why,  cappen — did  ye  ever  hear  o' 
such  a  piece  of  audacity  in  all  yer  born  days  ?  for 
him — Tim  Crane — to  durst  to  expire  to  my  hand — the 
widder  o'  deacon  Bedott !  jest  as  if  Pd  condescen  to 
look  at  him — the  old  numskull !  He  don't  know  B 
from  broomstick ;  but  if  he  'd  a  stayed  much  longer 
I  'd  a  teacht  him  the  difference,  I  guess.  He  's  got  his 
walkirf  ticlcet  now — I  hope  he  '11  lemme  alone  in  futur. 
And  where 's  Kier  ?  Gun  home  with  the  Cranes,  hey  I 
well,  I  gi.ess  it 's  the  last  time.  And  now,  Melissy 
Bedott,  you  ain't  to  have  nothin'  more  to  dew  with 
them  gals — d  'ye  hear?  you  ain't  to  sociate  with  'em  at 
all  arter  this — 't  would  only  be  incurridgin  th'  old  man 
to  come  a  pesterin  me  agin — and  I  won't  have  him 


MB.    CKANE    WALKS    OUT.  85 

found — d'ye  hear?  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  cappen — 
and  don't  be  alarmed  at  my  gitten'  in  such  passion 
about  old  Crane's  persumption.  Mabby  you  think 
't  was  onfeelin  in  me  to  use  him  so — and  I  don't  say 
but  what 't  was  ruther,  but  then  he 's  so  awful  dizagree- 
able  tew  me,  you  know — 't  ain't  every  body  I  'd  treat  in 
euch  a  way.  "Well,  if  you  must  go,  good  evenin'  1 
Give  my  love  to  Hanner  when  you  write  agin — dow 
call  frequently,  Cappen  Canoot,  dew." 


IX. 


TVTELISSY  !  ain't  that  old  uncle  Dawson  a  drivin' 
up  to  Smith's  store  ?  Well,  I  thought  so—  I've 
seen  him  round  considerable  lately  —  ben  suspectin' 
every  day  he  'd  be  callin'  in  here  —  hain't  called  sence 
his  wife  died.  I  met  him  tother  day  and  axed  him 
why  he  dident  come  —  said  he  'd  ben  very  bizzy,  but 
he  'd  try  to  call  afore  long  —  so  I  guess  he  's  comin'  to- 
day, he  's  so  spruced  up.  He  's  got  on  a  new  over- 
coat, hain't  he  ?  that  's  the  reason  I  dident  know  him 
at  fust.  Melissy  !  spring  tew  and  finish  pleetin'  on 
that  are  cap  border,  I  want  to  put  it  on,  this  ere  's  so 
dirty  I  should  be  ashamed  to  be  ketcht  in  't.  I  want 
you  should  set  the  border  furder  back,  and  the  bow 
a  leetle  higher  up  than  they  be  on  this  ere,  so  's  my  face 
won't  look  so  narrer,  it  makes  a  body  look  old  to  have 
uch  a  phizmahogany.  Here's  the  ribbin  ;  come,  be  spry, 
expect  every  minnit  to  see  him  come  out  o'  the  store. 
You  needent  sew  it  wonderful  tight,  jest  pin  them 
bows  on,  don't  stop  to  sew  em  —  that  '11  dew.  Guess 
I  '11  put  on  my  ally  packer  gownd,  wouldent  ye?  it  Js 


THE    WIDOW    "SETS    HER    CAP."  87 

more  becomin'  than  arj  other  gownd  I'  ve  got.  Hold 
your  tongue  Melissy — what  bizness  is  it  o'  yourn  if  I 
dew  set  my  cap  for  old  Dawson  ?  He  's  rich  as  mud 
and  hain't  a  chick  nor  child  to  leave  his  fortin'  tew. 
Univarsaler  ?  I  don't  bleve  a  word  on  't — he  goes  to 
meetin'  quite  stiddy  lately.  I  don't  care  if  he  is, a 
Uni versa! er  nother,  there's  good  folks  in  all  denomi- 
nations— pin  down  my  collar  quick — he 's  enough 
eight  better  'n  old  Crane  is  with  all  his  sanctimony. 
Don't  you  think  it 's  an  improvement  settin'  the  bows 
higher  up  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Melissy  Bedott,  I  should 
like  a  chance  to  ride  over  the  heads  o'  some  o'  these 
ere  folks  that  feel  so  mighty  grand,  shouldent  you  ? 
you  shouldent,  hey  ?  Well,  I  spoze  ye  wouldent — you'd 
jest  as  leve  be  put  down  and  trod  upon  as  not — you  're 
jest  like  yer  father,  he  hadent  no  more  sperrit  than  an 
old  gooss  and  you  hain't  nother.  For  my  part  I  'd 
like  to  be  able  to  show  Miss  Coon 't  I  'm  as  good  as 
she  is  and  a  leetle  grain  better,  neverstandin'  she 
dident  invite  me  to  her  party,  the  miserable,  low-lifed 
critter !  shall  always  be  glad  I  dident  let  v'ou  go — 
spoze  I  couldent  prevented  Kier's  gwine  if  he  'd  a  felt 
able — shall  always  be  glad  he  had  such  a  turrible  cold 
he  couldent  go.  There  comes  Mr.  Dawson !  he 's 
gittin'  in  his  cutter.  Why!  as  true  as  natur  he's 
druv  up  street !  wonder  where  he  's  gwine !  You  jest 
go  to  the  door  and  see  where  he  stops — folks  '11  talk 
if  I  go,  every  body's  a  watchin'  me.  Well,  where  did 


88  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PA  P  E  R  3 

he  go  ?  To  widder  Jiukinses !  I  laud  o'  liberty !  well 
I  '11  give  it  up  now !  I  '11  bet  a  cookey  she  called  him 
in,  'twold  be  egzackly  like  her.  Well,  peein'  I'm 
drest,  I  '11  just  run  in  to  Sam  Pendergrasses.  I  want 
to  see  Miss  Pendergrass — I  '11  take  my  knittin',  for 
mabby  I  shant  be  hum  to  tea.  If  I  should  stay  there 
to  tea  don't  you  and  Kier  be  a  lettin'  into  the  plum 
BOSS  and  cake,  as  you  did  't  other  day  when  I  went  to 
Deacon  Knipe's.  Git  some  o'  them  are  cold  beans  in 
the  cubberd,  and  the  bread 't  was  left  at  dinner,  there's 
enough  on 't,  don't  cut  no  more — ye  won't  want  no 
butter  if  ye  have  beans.  And  if  Mr.  Dawson  calls, 
you  come  arter  me,  d  'ye  hear  ?  (On  her  return  in  the 
evening  she  finds  Mr.  Jupiter  Smith  visiting  Melissa.) 
How  dew  you  do,  Mr.  Smith  ?  Ben  here  long  ?  I  'm 
sorry  I  was  out  when  you  came — glad  you  stayed  'till 
I  got  back  tho'.  When  did  you  git  home  from  Yar- 
mount?  To-day,  hey  I  How  did  you  find  your 
parents?  So  you  mist  that  are  all-killin'  genteel 
party  last  night  ?  Well,  I  guess  you  dident  lose  much 
— 't  ain't  no  credit  to  nobody  to  go  to  such  a  place. 
Sam  Pendergrasses  wife  's  ben  a  tellin'  me  about  it, 
she  was  there,  and  of  all  the  strains  ever  I  heerd  on  I 
should  think  that  was  the  cap  sheef.  Why  wa'n't 
I  there?  'caise  I  don't  sociate  with  such  company  as 
the  Coons,  I  wa'n't  invited,  to  be  sure — she  'd  as  soon 
a  thought  of  invltin'  the  governor  as  me.  I  should- 
ent  a  went  a  step  if  had  a  ben  invited — why,  Miss 


THE    WIDOW    "SFTS    H2E    0  >  P ."  89 

Coon  used  to  be  a  lured  gal  in  her  young  days!  and 
now  sence  she 's  got  a  hyst  in  the  world,  shs  tries  to 
cut  a^pludge  and  make  folks  think  she  s  a  lady — 
but  any  body  that 's  used  to  good  company,  can  see 
in  a  minnit  that  &hejs  no  lady.  They  say  the  way 
she  performed  last  night  was  a  caution.  She  had  a 
gret  loi.g  octridge  feather  in  her  head,  and  she  paraded 
round  like  a  grannydear — bowin'  and  smilin'  and 
curchyin'  with  as  much  dignitude  as  if  she  'd  a  ben  the 
queen  o'  Sheby — wa'n't  it  laflable  ?  If  I  ld  a  ben 
there  I  know  I  should  a  snorted  right  out  in  her  face. 
Old  Crane  was  there  tew,  pokin'  round  among  the 
gals — mip'htv  partickler  to  Kesier  "Winkle,  they  say. 
Did  you  ever '  and  his  wife  hain't  ben  dead  but  six 
months  I  ain't  it  awful  ?  Well,  I  'm  glad  I  Ve  got  rid 
o'  the  critter  at  last.  He 's  ben  stickin'  round  me  evei 
since  ht  come  here — and  it  did  seem  as  if  I  should  go 
crazy,  he 's  so  terrible  disagreeable — but  I  gin  him  a 
check  on  the  tow-path  't  other  day — and  I  rather 
guess  he  11  lemms  alone  arter  this.  Kesier  Winkle ! 
ain't  it  reedickelous  ?  I  don't  see  what  he  could 
fancy  about  her,  do  you?  ther  ain't  nothin'  of  her  but 
her  purty  face — and  I  never  thought  that  was  so  awful 
handsome  as  some  folks  does.  Her  red  cheeks  is  her 
only  beauty,  and  they  dew  say  them  ain't  natral.  But 
I  don't  want  to  hurt  Kesiah  Winkle — she 's  an  un- 
offensive,  simple  critter — I  shall  pity  her  if  she  gits 
Tim  Crane,  he  's  the  meanest  of  all  created  critters. 


00  WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEKS. 

1  knowed  him  in  his  young  days.     I  mean  when  lie 
was  ruther  young,  and  I  was  very  young  indeed.     I 
knowed  him  always  till  he  went  to  the  West — and 
I M  as  soon  think  o'  havin'  the  "  old  boy"  as  him 
He  don't  know  nothin'  only  how   to  make  money — 

0  yes  he  does  to — he  knows  how  to  keep  it.     Of  all 
stingy  mortals  he  's  the  stingiest.     Husband  dispised 
him — used  to  say,  Tim  Crane  was  so  tight  he  fairly 
begrudged  the  air  he  breathed — and  it  'a  a  fact.   Massy 
tew  me  I  it  does  seem  onaccountable  how  any  body 
can  be  so  beset  to  get  married  as  to  take  up  with  him 
— don't  it?    He's  the  consarndest  old  gump  tew  '1 
ever  was — no  intellectibility  at  all.    I  always  knowed 
he  was  a  dretful  ninny,  but  I  dident  think  he  was  so 
awful  silly  as  he  is  till 't  other  night  at  the  Phreeny- 
ogical  lectur.     He  come  and  sot  down  by  me ;  I  was 
turribly  provoked  to  have  him  a  stickin'  round  me  in 
public  so,  but  I  couldent  help  it,  you  know ;  I  waa 
purty  haughty  tew  him,  I  tell  ye.     Well,  if  you  '11 
believe  it — as  true  as  I  set  here — when  the  lecterer  was 
tellin'  about  the  organs  in  folkses  heads,  old  Crane 
thought  he  meant  them  are  music  organs — it  ^  a  fact ; 

1  never  was  so  dizgusted  in  my  life.      Well,  he  ain't 
worth  talkin'  about,  and  I  make  it  a  pint  never  to  talk 
about  nobody.     I  eny  most  wish  you  had  a  ben  to 
that  party,  Mr.  Smith ;  it  must  a  ben  quite  entertairdn' 
to  see  the  dewins.      Thsy  say  the  widder  Jinkins 
made  herself  perfectly  redickious.    She  was  drest 


THE    WIDOW    "SETS    HER    CAP."  91 

off  Kks  a  young  gal — false  cm-Is  on  and  artifishel 
flowors  in  her  cap.  I  think  that 's  very  improper  for 
a  woman  o'  her  age — why,  I  never  wear  'em,  and  I 
ain't  nowhere  nigh  so  old  as  she  is — 't  is  amazin !  and 
thej  say  she  cut  round  and  hollered  and  laffed  and 
tried  to  be  wonderful  interestin'.  They  say  she  's  a 
try  in'  to  draw  in  old  uncle  Dawson;  wouldent  it  be  awful 
if  she  should  coax  him  up  to  marry  her?  but  if  she 
should,  he  's  a  bigger  fool  than  I  took  him  for,  that 's 
all — what  say  ?  is  gwine  to  marry  her  ?  why  Jubiter 
Smith  1  I  don't  bleve  it — if  'twas  so  Sam  Fender- 
grasses  wife  would  a  knowed  it — she  knows  every 
thing  that  guz  on  in  the  place — though  she  and  Miss 
JinHns  ain't  very  friendly ;  but  I  know  't  ain't  so — 
who  told  you,  Mr.  Smith?  Miss  Jinkins  herself  1 1 
land  o'  Nod !  I  Next  week !  1  you-  don't  1 !  well— I  '11 
give  it  up  now  !  The  widder  Jinkins  a  gwine  to  be 
married  to  old  uncle  Dawson  I  If  that  ain't  the  last" 
thing  T  ever  heerd  on !  What  is  this  world  a  comin' 
tew  ?  How  redicklous !  well,  she  's  a  mean,  good-for- 
nothin',  underhanded  critter  to  go  to  work  a  settin' 
her  traps  for  that  poor  old  man,  and,  conduce  him  to 
make  such  a  flumbergasted  fool  o'  himself  in  his  old 
age!  What  a  dog's  life  she  '11  lead  him  tew !  Why 
she  's  the  awfullest  tempered  critter  't  ever  was  made. 
I  've  knowed  Poll  Bingham  from  a  gal,  and  I  don't 
bleve  Bill  Jinkins  w^ild  a  turned  out  such  a  misrable 
shack  if  he  'd  a  had  decent  woman  for  a  wife.  Poll 


92       WIDOW  BEDOfT  PAPERS 

Jinkins  and  old  Dawson  ?  tribbilation  ! !  Why,  she 's 
been  ravin'  distracted  to  git  married  ever  since  her 
husband  died,  and  arter  all,  she  couldent  git  nobody 
but  that  poor  decripped,  superannuated  old  feller  If 
she  wa'n't  dretful  anxious  to  git  man-id  she  wouldent 
take  him.  Melissy,  dear,  30  down  suller  and  git  some 
apples — some  o'  tlie  seek-no-furders — don't  foil  down 
and  break  yer  neck,  darlin'.  Old  Dawson !  why  he 's 
a  Univarsaler !  ain't  it  awful  ?  I  'd  as  soon  think  o' 
havin'  a  Hoppintot.  If  that  had  a  ben  the  only  thing 
ther  was  aginst  him,  /  shouldent  a  had  him.  I  never 
gin  him  no  incurridgement — -just  as  if  I  were  a  g^vine 
to  take  up  with  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry,  arter  beia'  the 
wife  o'  such  a  man  as  Deacon  Bedott!  He's  an 
amazin'  ignorant  old  coot,  tew — 'tis  surprism'  how 
little  he  knows  I  Git  some  knives  and  plates,  now, 
Melissy — help  yourself  to  apples,  Mr.  Smith.  I  can 
tell  you  a  circumstance  that  actilly  took  place  once — 
that  '11  show  you  what  an  ignorant  old  heathen  he  is. 
His  wife  used  to  belong  to  Parson  Potter's  church, 
and  once  in  a  while  he  used  to  come  to  mcetin'  with 
her,  and  he  always  used  to  go  to  sleep  as  soon  as  the 
sarmon  begun,  and  sleep  till  meetin'  was  out — well 
one  Sabberday  old  Dawson  was  to  meetin' — and  Par 
son  Potter  preached  some  doctrinal  pint— I  don't  now 
remember  what  was  the  theme  of  his  subject — but 
any  way,  arter  he  'd  gin  out  his  text,  says  he, 
"Brothrin — the  subject  under  consideration  this 


THE    WIDOW  "SETS    HER    CAP."  93 

mornin'  is  one  o'  the  biggest  importance,  and  I  Ve 
gin  it  my  unmitigated  attention  for  a  number  o'  year 
—but  I  'm  sorry  to  say,  the  commontaters  don't  agree 
with  me."  "Well,  old  Dawson  heerd  that — and  then 
he  dropt  asleep  as  usual.  The  next  arternoon  Miss 
Potter  had  company — what 's  called  a  "  deacon  party," 
you  know — that  is-^-all  the  deacons  and  ther  wives. 
There  was  Deacon  Kenipe  and  his  wife,  Deacon  Crosby 
and  his  wife.  Deacon  Whipple  and  his  wife,  and  Deacon 
Bedott  and  me.  "Well,  as  we  was  all  a  settin'  there 
about  the  middle  o'  the  arternoon,  who  should  come 
in  but  old  uncle  Dawson,  luggin'  a  mortal  gret  sass- 
basket — "  Well  Parson,"  says  he,  "  you  said  yesterday 
in  meetin'  how 't  the  common  taters  dident  agree  with 
ye — so  I  Ve  fetched  you  some  oncommon  ones — the 
very  best  that  ever  was  growd — for  I  reckoned  't  was 
tew  bad  you  should  be  obleeged  to  live  on  common, 
poor  taiers,  while  I  had  such  a  bundance  o'  good  uns. 
It 's  a  kind  I  fetcht  from  Connecticut — where  I  used 
to  live — nobody  round  here  hain't  got  nun  Eke  em. 
They  call  em  "  Harrington  blue-skins" — yon  needent 
be  afeared  but  what  they  '11  agree  with  ye — ye  might 
eat  em  all  day,  and  not  feel  a  grain  the  woss  for  't." 

Now,  Mr.  Smith,  that 's  a  fact — I  was  knowin'  to 't 
— Parson  Potter,  he  thankt  him  over  and  over  agin-  - 
ind  we  all  contrived  to  keep  our  faces  strait  till  he  'd 
got  out  o'  the  house — and  then,  what  a  roarin'  ther 
wras  1  Parson  Potter  told  us  never  to  mention  it  in 


94       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

creation — cause  the  old  man  meant  well — but  some 
how  or  other  it  got  out — such  things  wiU,  you  know. 
But,  as  Deacon  Whipple  remarked — it 's  lamentyble 
that  any  body  in  this  free  and  inlightened  kintry 
should  be  so  blind  and  ignorant.  But  he 's  good 
enough  for  widder  JinMns  any  day — don't  you  say 
so?  Well,  what  is  Wiggletown  a  comin'  tew?  Poll 
Jinkins  and  old  uncle  Dawson !  it's  the  laffablest 
thing  I  Ve  heerd  on  this  many  a  day  I  he,  he,  he  1  I 
shall  go  eff  1 1 

The  last  news  that  I  had  from  Wiggletown,  was 
that  Melissa  is  soon  to  be  married  to  the  worthy  Mr. 
Jupiter  Smith;  and  that  Kier  is  engaged  to  Selina 
Crane.  It  is  supposed  that  the  widow  never  would 
have  given  her  consent  to  these  matches,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  interference  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Magwire, 
who  have  at  last  induced  her  to  give  up  her  opposi- 
tion to  the  wishes  of  her  children.  She,  however,  con- 
tinues to  growl  about  it  occasionally,  and  has  become 
perfectly  "  dizgusted"  with  Wiggletown  and  every  body 
in  it,  declaring,  that  "  it  ain't  what  it  used  to  be — all 
run  down — not  fit  for  respectable  people  to  live  in — 
and  she  don't  mean  to  have  nothin'  to  dew  with  no- 
body in  a  place  where  every  body  's  atryin'  to  injure 
her,  and  put  her  down — and  so." 


rpHB   Widow  Bedott    having    resolved   to   leave 
Wiggletown,  makes   her  farewell  visit  to  her 
friend  Mrs.  Higgins,  of  Ganderfield. 

"Did  ye  know  I  was  gwine  to  quit  Wiggletown? 
dident  hey  ?  Well  I  be — I  lay  out  to  go  next  week. 
I  am  gwine  to  Scrabble  Hill,  to  sister  Magwire's,  to 
spend  the  winter,  at  least — and  if  I  like  it  purty  well, 
mabby  I  shall  conclude  to  make  it  my  native  place, 
and  never  come  back  to  Wiggletown — without 't  is 
jest  a  visitin'.  » Its  tumble  lonesome  to  be  keepin' 
house  all  alone  as  I  be  now  since  Kier  and  Melissy 
was  married  and  dewin'  for  themselves.  Ary  one 
on  'em  would  be  glad  to  have  me  live  with  'em 
— but  some  how  I  don't  like  the  idee.  Melissy's 
got  a  nice  man  for  a  husband.  Jubiter  Smith's  a  very 
nice  man — and  she  's  very  pleasantly  sitiwated.  But 
J  'd  ruther  not  live  with  'em — shouldent  feel  inde- 
pendent, ye  know.  And  as  for  livin'  to  Kier's — I 
guess  it  '11  be  after  this,  any  how,  afore  I  dew  that. 
Seliny's  well  enough,  fur  as  I  know.  I  hain't  nothin' 


06        WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

against  Seliny — only  I  don't  like  tbat  stock.  I  was 
opposed  to  Kier's  marryin'  into  that  family — but  he 
was  so  determined  on  't  I  gm  up  my  opposition  and 
tried  to  make  the  best  on  't  But  I  can  't  be  intirely 
reconciled  to  't,  dew  what  I  will.  It 's  werry  onpleas- 
ant  to  be  connected  with  that  tribe  any  way.  Especi- 
ally the  old  man — I  never  could  bear  Tim  Crane — 
he's  so  mortal  mean.  Dident  know  it?  well,  then, 
you  don't  know  him  as  well  as  I  dew,  "Why.  I  Ve 
been  acquainted  with  him  ever  sence  he  was  quite  a 
young  man,  and  I  can  testify 't  he  was  always  as  tight 
as  a  drum-head.  How  else  did  he  make  his  money, 
pray  ?  he  never  could  a  did  it  by  his  urits,  for  he  hain't 
none.  Yes — I  always  knowd  Tim  Crane — so  did  my 
poor  husband — he  used  to  have  dealins  with  him,  and 
he  said,  that  of  all  born  skin-flints 't  ever  he  had  to  do 
with,  Tim  Crane  was  the  biggest.  Yes — I  always 
dispised  the  critter — and  then  to  think  that  any  body 
should  say  't  I  was  a  tryin'  to  ketch  him ! — 't  is  scan- 
dicilous!  Hain't  heerd  nobody  say  so?  Well  thir 
is  suoh  a  story  all  round  Wiggletown — and  I  guess 
I  kuow  who  started  it,  tew — and  that  was  old  Daw- 
son's  wife — she 't  was  widder  Jinkins — she  's  always  a 
runnin'  me  down — and  she  feels  oncomrpon  ryled  up 
against  me  now  cause  she  knows  the  olu  man  was 
arter  me  'fore  he  took  her.  I  know  she  started  the 
Btory,  cause  Sam  Pendegrasses  wife  told  me  on  *t — 
and  she  said  she  heerd  it  from  Minervy  Hawlcy — arid 


RESOLVES  TC  LEAVE  W1GGLETOWN.   97 

Minervy  Hawley  heerd  it  from  Major  Coon's  wife — 
?md  Major  Coon's  wife  and  Miss  Dawson  is  wonderful 
intimit — and  I  s'pose  Miss  Dawson  told  Miss  Coon. 
But  what  she  says  ain't  worth  mindin'.  'T  is  curus  't 
nobody  should  pay  any  attention  to  't.  Me  set  my 
cap  for  old  Crane !  Gracious !  I  never  could  bear  the 
sight  of  him.  I  tell  you,  I  was  glad  enough  when  he 
got  married  to  Kesier  Winkle — though  't  was  a  most 
reedicilous  piece  o'  business,  wa'n't  it  ?  To  think  o' 
his  marryin'  that  foolish  flirt  of  a  gal !  young  enough 
to  be  his  darter,  tew !  But  I  rejoiced  from  the  bottom 
o'  my  heart  when  it  took  place — for,  thinks  me,  folks  11 
etop  ther  gab  about  him  and  me  now.  You  see,  he  i 
been  stickin'  round  me  ever  sence  he  came  back  here 
— and  ther  was  considerable  talk  that  him  and  rne 
was  a  gwine  to  make  a  match — and  't  was  very  dis- 
tressin'  to  me  to  be  the  subjick  of  such  a  report  I 
done  all  in  my  power  to  give  him  to  understand  that 
his  attentions  was  dizagreeable  tew  me — but  somehow 
another  he  wouldent  take  the  hint.  I  dident  want 
him  to  offer  himself  tew  me,  you  know.  I  always 
make  it  a  pint  when  I  see  't  an  individdiwal's  pleased 
with  me  and  I  don't  recipperate  ther  sentiments — I 
say,  I  always  make  it  a  pint  to  disencourage  'em  all 
I  can — for  it  hurts  my  feelins  amazinly  to  be  obleeged 
to  refuse  a  man  ;  it 's  so  mortifyin'  tew  'em,  ye  know, 
to  be  told  they  ain't  wanted.  I  always  git  rid  on 't 
when  I  can — and  I  tried  tew  in  this  case — but  the  old 
5 


WIDOW    BEL»OTT    PAPERS. 

coot  was  so  awful  numbheaded  I  couldent  beat  any 
thin'  into  him.  He  hung  on  like  the  toothache — till 
I  got  out  of  all  patience.  At  last  he  come  t'  our  house 
one  evening — (Now  Miss  Higgins,  I  hope  you  won't 
never  mention  this  to  nobody.  I  shouldent  a  told  you 
on 't — I  make  it  a  pint  never  to  tell  o'  such  things. 
Only  seein'  we  was  a  speakin'  o'  the  story  bein'  round 
that  I  sot  my  cap  for  him,  I  thought  I  'd  let  you  know 
how  much  foundation  thcr  was  for 't — but  don't  let  it 
git  no  furder  for  pity's  sake.  I  don't  wish  Mr.  Crane 
no  harm).  But  I  was  a  gwine  to  tell  ye — He  took 
the  opportunity  one  night  when  I  was  alone,  to  come 
over  t'  our  house.  I  ginerally  contrived  to  keep 
Melissy  or  Keir  in  the  room  when  he  came  there ;  and 
I  'spose  he'  d  noticed  it,  for  he  come  over  a  Bingin' 
school  evenin',  when  he  knowd  they  'd  be  gone.  I  tell 
ye  I  was  mad  when  I  see  the  critter  come  in.  I 
treated  him  as  cool  as  a  cowcumber ;  but  neverstandin' 
all  that,  if  you  '11  bleve  it,  he  up  and  popped  the  ques- 
tion 1  At  first  I  answered  him  as  civil  as  I  could,  and 
begged  to  be  egscused ;  but  he  wouldent  take  no  foi 
an  answer ;  and  so  I  was  obleeged  to  be  purty  hash 
with  him  and  told  him  I  dident  want  nothing  to  dew 
with  him,  and  wished  he  'd  reitterate  and  leave  me 
alone  and  never  trouble  me  no  more.  And  will  ye 
bleve  it !  the  critter  continued  to  hang  on  till  I  was 
uecessiated  to  order  him  out  o'  the  house  and  tell  him 
if  ever  he  darkened  my  doors  agin  he  'd  ketch  it.  So 


BESOLVEB    TO    LEAVE    WIGGLE  TOWN.    99 

at  last  I  got  rid  of  him  •  and  that 's  the  upshot  o'  the 
matter  betwixt  old  C:ane  and  me.  'Twas  about  tew 
months  afcre  he  was  married  to  Kesier  Winkle— and 
disappinted  me,  as  they  say.  Disappinted!  it  looks 
like  lein'  disappinted,  don't  it?  Its  awful  provokin' 
to  be  talked  about  as  I  be,  ain't  it?  But  I  Ve  always 
ben  the  subjick  o  slander  ever  since  I  lived  here,  and 
that 's  since  I  was  quite  a  gal.  What  a  tumble  place 
for  teJldn',  Wiggletown  is,  though !  a  regular  slander 
mill.  It's  s  great  deal  woss  than  it  used  be — and 
'twas  always  bad  enough.  I'm  perfectly  dizgusted 
with  the  place,  especially  sence  them  stories  about  old 
Crane  and  me.  It  makes  me  outrageous  to  be  lied 
about  so  by  such  folks"  as  old  Dawson's  wife  and  Miss 
Major  Coon.  Miss  Coon — she  don't  like  me  cause  I 
hain't  ne^  er  knuckled  tew  her.  You  know  she  thinks 
she 's  a  gieat  character  sence  she  married  Major  Coon. 
But  I  can  tell  her  "  I  ain't  so  fond  o'  pork  as  to  eat  hog 
yokes!"  Miss  Pendergrass  says,  I  hadent  ought  to 
mind  none  o'  the  stories  folks  tells — and  I  don't  mean 
tew.  But  Lhen  it 's  made  me  clear  sick  and  tired  o' 
Wiggletovn.  I  'm  completely  dizgusted  with  it,  and 
don't  mean  to  live  thert  nc  longer  if  I  can  help  it 
I  've  ben  some  time  considerin'  what 's  best  to  dew, 
and  I  've  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  Scrabble  Hill  to 
spend  the  winter  with,  sister  Magwire.  I  was  thoro 
and  stayed  a  fortnight  about  two  year  ago — had  a  very 
pleasant  visit.  At  nrst  I  thought  quite  strong  o'  visit- 


100       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

in'  my  brother,  Christopher  Columbus  Poole.  away  in 
Varmount — never  was  there  but  once,  and  that  was 
fore  husband  died.  But  I  've  giv  't  up  on  account  o' 
the  family  bein'  Baptists.  I  can't  stan  the  Baptists  no 
way ;  and  if  I  went  there  I  should  have  to  go  to  the 
Baptist  meetin'  and  that  would  be  a  tumble  cross  tew 
me ;  so  I  've  concluded  to  go  to  Scrabble  Hill  for  a 
spell.  Sister  Magwire  's  a  fine  woman,  though  sLe 
ain't  very  intellectible.  I  always  sot  a  great  deal  by 
her.  No  doubt  she  11  be  wonderful  glad  to  have  me 
come.  She  must  be  considerable  lonesome  now.  Her 
only  son  's  gone  off  to  study  doctrin ;  and  she 's  alone 
quite  a  good  deal  Her  husband  carries  on  the  shoe- 
makin'  bisness  quite  extensive ;  and  he 's  to  his  shop 
the  heft  o'  the  time.  To  speak  the  truth,  I  ain't  sorry 
her  son  's  gone,  for  he  ain't  no  favoryte  o'  mine.  He 's 
growed  up  to  be  ruther  a  dizagreeable  young  man — 
always  pokin'  fun  at  every  body.  He  takes  after  his 
father  in  that  respect.  Brother  Magwire  's  quite  a 
teaze,  though  he  knows  better  'n  to  hurt  r'olk's  feelins 
as  Jeff  does.  I  think  I  shall  enjoy  myself  pretty 
well  at  Scrabble  Hill.  The  society  is  quite  refined 
there,  and  that  suits  me,  j^  know.  I  feel  out  o'  place 
in  "Wiggletown ;  ther  ain't  no  refinement  there  at  all. 
What  little  there  used  to  be  's  all  run  out.  The  in- 
habiters  now's  a  perfect  set  o?  Goffs  and  Randals. 
I'm  thoroughly  dizgusted  vritn  the  hull  town  and 
every  body  in  it,  exceptin'  Kier  and  Melissy,  and  Sam 


RESOLVES    TO    LEAVE    WIGGLE  TOWN.   101 

Pendergrasses  wife.  If  5t  wa'n't  that  Jiey  live  there, 
Wiggletown  might  go  to  destruction  for  all  I'd 
care. 

LETTER  FROM    JEFFERSON   MAGUIRB    TO    HIS  COUSDi,' 
MRS.  JASPER  DOOLITTLE. 

CooimLLB,  Oct.  27, 1847. 

DEAR  COUSIN  NANCY: 

What  gloomy,  miserable  weather  this  is !  But  I 
suppose  that  your  domestic  cares  and  your  good  hus- 
band, occupy  so  much  of  your  attention,  that  you  Ve 
hardly  time  to  growl  about  the  weather.  I  assure 
you  I  fsel  forlorn  enough  to-day.  Probably  more  so, 
for  having  just  returned  from  a  visit  of  a  week  at 
father's ;  and  home  is  so  much  pleasanter  to  me  than 
any  other  place,  that  I  am  always  discontented  for  a 
wfcUe  after  coming  away. 

I  suppose  you  would  like  to  know  what  the  good 
folks  at  Scrabble  Hill  are  doing ;  so  I  '11  tell  you  as 
far  as  I  know.  Father  and  mother  get  on  about  after 
tLe  old  sort,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  great  change 
among  the  other  inhabitants.  Sam  Baily  is  paying 
attention  to  Katy  Carey,  and  Pardon  Hittibone  and 
Maria  Louisa  "Wilson  are  to  be  married  next  month. 
Charity  Grimes  and  Sally  Hugle  are  as  old  and  as  dis- 
agreeable as  ever,  if  not  a  leetk  more  so,  and  full  as 
anxious  to  dispose  of  themselves  as  ever.  Old  Elder 


102       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

Sniffles,  the  Baptist  minister,  lost  his  wife  about  two 
months  ago,  and  his  personal  appearance  has  greatly 
improved  since  that  afflictive  event  (no  uncommon 
thing  as  respects  widowers,  I  believe).  The  Footes  have 
eold  out,  and  gone  to  Wisconsin,  and — well  I  believe, 
you  have  now  all  the  village  news,  excepting  one 
piece  of  information,  and  that,  as  it  is  the  most  im- 
portant, I  have  reserved  till  the  last.  A  distinguished 
stranger  arrived  at  Scrabble  Hill  some  two  weeks 
since.  Who  do  you  guess  it  is?  Why,  no  less  a 
personage  than  the  Widow  Bedott,  interesting  relict 
of  Deacon  Hezekiah  Bedott.  She  has  actually  in- 
flicted herself  upon  father's  folks  for  the  whob  winter. 
What  a  time  they  '11  have  of  it,  won't  they  ?  Mother 
is  so  well  disposed,  that  she  tries  to  put  up  with  it 
cheerfully;  but  nevertheless,  it  is  pretty  evident  that 
she  looks  upon  Aunt  Bedott  as  a  prodigious  boro. 
She  had  been  there  but  two  or  three  days  when  I 
went  home,  and  she  did  not  appear  overjoyed  to  eee 
me.  For  some  reason  or  other  she  does  n't  take  a 
particular  fancy  to  me.  Mother  says  it 's  because  I 
teaze  her  sometimes.  But  there  is  something  so  de- 
cidedly rich  about  Aunt  Silly,  that  I  can  not  for  my  life 
help  having  a  little  fun  at  her  expense  occasionally. 
On  Sunday  morning  I  said  to  her,  when  mother  was  n't 
by,  "Well,  aunty,  where  do  you  go  to  meeting  to- 
day ?"  "  Where  do  I  go  to  meetin' !"  said  she  "  what 
%  question  I  why,  where  should  I  go  but  to  my  owe 


RESOLVES    TO    LEAVE    WIGGLETOWN.   103 

meetin'  ?"  "  Oh,"  said  I,  "  I  thought  perhaps  you  'd 
like  to  hear  Elder  Sniffles,  he 's  such  an  interesting 
preacher."  "  What !"  said  she,  "  me  go  to  the  Baptist 
meetin' !  I  hope  you  ain't  in  arnest,  Jeff ;  why  I  'd  as 
soon  go  to  the  theatre  as  go  there.  I  have  a  sufferin' 
contempt  for  the  Baptists.  They  think  nobody  can't 
git  to  heaven -without  bein'  dipped,  dippin  's  a  savin' 
audience  with  them.  Why,  come  to  think,  I  remem- 
ber that  Elder  Sniffles.  When  I  was  here  afore,  yer 
mother  and  me  was  into  Mr.  Hugle's  one  evenin* — 
they  're  Baptists,  ain't  they  ?  and  Elder  Sniffles 
and  his  wife  come  in  there  to  call.  If  my  memory 
serves  me,  he  's  ruther  a  tall,  scrawny  man  with  eyes 
that  looks  like  a  couple  o'  peeled  onions,  and  kind  o' 
squintin'  tew,  and  seems  to  me  he  hadn't  no  hair 
nardly."  "  O  !"  said  I,  "  you  'd  scarcely  know  him 
now,  he  's  got  a  wig  and  wears  spectacles,  which  im- 
proves his  appearance  vastly."  "  Well,  I  should  think 
it  needed  improvin',"  said  she. 

"  By  the  way,  aunty,"  said  I,  "  did  you  know  that 
Mrs.  Sniffles  was  dead  ?"  "You  don't  say  so  !"  said 
he.  "  Yes,"  said  I :  "she  died  only  a  few  weeks  ago. 
I  feel  sorry  for  the  Elder — he  must  be  so  lonesome." 
"  So  do  I,"  said  she  with  a  sigh.  "  It's  a  dredful 
thing  to  lose  a  companion,  and  I  s'pose  the  Baptists 
feel  it  as  much  as  any  body."  "  Undoubtedly,"  said 
I ;  "  Elder  Sniffles  seems  deeply  afflicted — his  sermons, 
they  say,  have  been  more  interesting  than  ever,  since 


104    WIDOW  BE&OTT  PAPERS. 

iris  loss  ;  something  mournfully  solemn  about  them," 
—so  I  went  on  for  some  time,  dilatin'  upon  the  elder's 
eloquence  and  talents,  and  loneliness  and  all  that.  I  as- 
sure you  I  talked  pretty  fast,  for  fear  mother  'd  come  in 
before  I  could  say  all  I  wanted  to — and  I  was  afraid 
she  'd  throw  all  the  fat  in  the  fire.  At  length  aunt 
Silly  said  that  I  'd  raised  her  curiosity  to  such  a  pitch 
that  she  really  felt  quite  a  desire  to  hear  the  elder  preach 
— she  had  a  good  notion  to  go  to  the  Baptist  meet- 
ing for  once.  Of  course  I  offered  my  services  as  es- 
cort. Shortly  after  mother  came  in,  and  was  quite  sur- 
prised when  Aunt  Bedott  announced  her  intention  of 
going  to  the  Baptist  meeting.  "  What 's  your  notion  ?" 
said  mother.  "Oh  !"  said  aunty,  "Jeff's  excited  my 
curiosity  so  much  about  Elder  Sniffles,  that  I  feel  as 
if  I  'd  like  to  go  and  hear  him  preach."  Mother  looked 
at  me  for  an  explanation — so  I  thought  my  best  course 
was  to  own  up— for  I  knew  that  mother  would  n't  ex- 
pose me,  and  tell  Aunt  Bedott  that  I  was  hoaxing 
her,  as  it  would  serve  to  increase  her  antipathy  to  me, 
which  mother  was  anxious  to  do  away.  Therefore  I 
remarked  that  I  'd  been  telling  aunt  Silly  what  an  elo- 
quent man  elder  Sniffles  was.  Mother  said  nothing 
then,  but  as  soon  as  we  were  alone,  she  took  me  to  task 
roundly.  However  I  carried  the  point,  and  aunty  and 
I  went  off  to  Baptist  meeting.  We  had  a  seat  very 
near  the  pulpit.  As  usual,  the  Elder  whaled  away 
through  his  nose — thumped  the  desk,  and  went  over 


EESOLVES    TO    LEAVE    WIGGLETOWN.   106 

and  over  again  with  the  same  thing— using  a  little  dif- 
ferent words  each  time,  without  ever  making  the  most 
remote  approach  to  any  thing  like  the  shadow  of  an 
idea.  But  it  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  with 
what  devout  and  earnest  attention  Aunt  Bedott  regard- 
ed him  all  the  time.  Once  she  was  deeply  a^ected, 
and  sobbed  in  a  manner  that  attracted  universal  atten- 
tion. It  was  on  his  making  the  very  original  observa- 
tion that  "  this  was  a  changing  world,  and  we  couldn't 
calculate  with  any  degree  of  certainty  upon  any 
thing !"  When  we  were  going  home,  Aunt  Bedott 
said — "  Well,  Jefferson  you  was  right — elder  Sniffles 
is  a  very  interesting  preacher — very,  indeed.  I  never 
was  more  edified  in  my  life  than  I  Ve  been  this  morn- 
in'.  He  ain't  so  bad  lookiri,  nother,  as  I  was  thinkin' 
he  was :  that  ere  wig  makes  him  look  ten  year  young- 
er— a  body  never  'd  think  o'  such  a  thing  as  its  bein' 
a  wig — it 's  so  natral.  And  them  specs,  too :  they  'ie 
an  improvement  on  account  o'  kind  o'  hidin'  the  pe- 
cooliarities  of  his  eyes.  I  don't  know  as  I  should  a' 
took  him  for  the  same  indiwiddiwal.  But  then  his 
sannon! — Oh,  Jefferson,  that  was  what  I  call  a  sar- 
itw<  in  arncst !  I  begin  to  think  't  ain't  right  to  be  so 
prejudiced  against  other  denominations.  I  should 
likft  to  be  in'iTOQUsed.  to  Elder  Sniffles,  and  hear  him 
convarse."  Wouldn't  it  be  rich,  Nancy,  to  be  an  in- 
visible listener  to  the  conversation?  The  next  day  I 
same  away  I  shall  be  quite  curious  to  know  whether 
5* 


106       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS 

Aunt  Bedott  continues  in  her  liberal  frame  of  mind — 
but  I  sha'n't  dare  to  ask  mother  a  word  about  it  when 
I  write — so  I  must  remain  in  ignorance  until  I  go 
home  again  at  Thanksgiving.  But  I'm  writing  a 
tremendousJy  long  letter,  so  I  '11  just  stop  where  I  am. 
Eemembei  me  to  cousin  Jasper,  and.  believe  me  youi 
affectionate  cousin. 


XL 

toitfc 


OOD  momin'  marm  !  can  I  trade  any  with  ye 
to-day?" 

"  Land  o'  liberty  !  I  want  to  know  if  that  's  you, 
Jabe  Clark?" 

"'T  ain't  nobody  else  —  but  raly  you've  got  the 
advantage  o'  me." 

"  Hev  hay  1  well  I  guess  it  's  the  fust  time  any  body 
got  the  advantage  o'  ye  —  do  ye  remember  them  shoes 
ye  sold  me  in  Wiggletown  ?" 

"  Jingo  !  I  '11  be  darned  if  't  ain't  the  Widder  Be- 
dott  !  why  —  ye  look  younger  and  handsomer  'n 
ever  —  " 

"  It  took  them  shoes  to  stir  up  yer  memory  —  I  al- 
ways tho't  I  M  like  to  hev  a  recknin'  with  ye  about 
comin'  such  a  trick  on  me  —  " 

"But  Widder—" 

"  None  o'  yer  buts  —  dident  ye  tell  me  they  was 
fustrate  leather  —  and  worth  ten  shillin'  every  cent 
on  't  —  but  seein'  't  was  me  I  mout  hev  'em  for  a  dol 
lar,  say  !  and  dident  they  bust  out  at  the  sides  and 


108      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

run  down  at  the  heels  and  split  on  the  instep  in  less 
than  a  week's  time — and  dident  ye  know  they  would 
serve  me  so  when  ye  sold  'em  to  me<—- say  ?" 

"  But  Widder  ye  know—" 

"  Yes  I  know — I  know  Ji  want  the  fust  time  you  'd 
cheated  me — but  I  ruther  guess  't  was  the  last  time — 
and  I  ain't  the  only  one  that 's  made  vp  ther  minds 
not  to  hev  no  more  deal  with  ye — Sam  Pendergrasses 
wife  says  't  if  ever  you  darken  her  doors  again  you  '11 
ketch  it." 

"  Well,  Miss  Bedott,  to  tell  ye  the  plain  truth,  them 
shoes  hev  laid  heavy  on  my  conscience  for  some  time 
back — I  dew  confess  with  compunction  that  I  had 
some  shortcoming  in  those  days — I  did  use  to  git  the 
better  o'  my  customers  sometimes  in  a  bargin — I  Ve 
felt  quite  exercised  about  it  lately.  Ye  see,  Widder, 
I  warn't  actiwated  by  religious  principles  then,  that 
was  the  difficulty." 

"  Do  ye  mean  to  insiniwate  that  ye  Ve  met  with  a 
change?" 

"  I  think  I  may  confidentially  say  I  hev." 

"  How  long  sence  ?" 

"  Wai,  about  a  year  and  a  half.  I  experienced  re- 
ligion over  in  Yarmount,  at  one  o'  brother  Armstrong's 
protracted  meetin's.  I  tell  ye,  Widder,  them  special 
efforts  is  great  things — ever  sence  I  come  out  I  Ve  felt 
like  a  new  critter." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  Ve  acted  like  one,  and  restored 


TRADES  WITH  A  PEDDLER.      109 

four-fold,  as  scriptex  conLmaodfl,  to  them  you  've  got 
the  better  of.  If  ye  did  I  guess  yer  pockets  was 
cleaned  out  amazin'  quick." 

"I  'm  free  to  say,  I  Lev  made  restitution  as  fur  as  I 
was  able." 

"  Well,  then,  ye  'd  better  hand  over  that  dollar  I  paid 
for  them  shoes — or  at  least  six  shiilin'  on 't,  they 
waVt  worth  over  twenty-five  cents  at  the  furdest." 

"Wai,  I  '11  tell  ye  Widder  how  I  gineraUy  dew  in 
Buch  cases.  I  make  a  practice  o'  lettin'  on  'em  trade 
it  out  (he  begins  to  open  his  boxes),  I ;  ve  got  a  lot  o' 
goods  that  '11  make  yer  eyes  water,  I  guess.  I  make 
it  a  pint  o'  carryin'  a  finer  stock  than  ary  other  travel- 
in'  merchant  in  this  section." 

"Ye  needent  undew  'em — I  hain't  no  notion  o? 
tradinV* 

"  But 't  won't  cost  nothin'  to  jest  look  at  'em,  ye 
know — there,  them  pocket  handkerchers  is  superior 
to  any  thing  ye  '11  find  this  side  o'  New  York." 

"  Wonderful  thin  though." 

"Sheer,  ye  mean,  that's  what  they  call  sheer,  a 
very  desirable  quality  iL.  iinning  cambrick.  I  tell  ye 
Widder  there  ain't  no  such  handkerchers  in  Scrabble 

mil." 

"  I  '11  bet  a  cent  they  're  half  cotton." 

"Half  cotton!  jingo!  they  ain't  half  cotton — I7}! 
stake  my  repertation  on  't — T  mean  my  present  reper- 
tation." 


110      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  What  dew  ye  ax  for  'em  ?" 

11  Wai,  them  handkerchers  had  orto  fetch  twelve 
Bhillin'  apiece.  I  never  sold  none  for  less,  but  bein' 
as  I  dident  dew  exactly  the  fair  thing  about  the  shoes, 
if  ye  '11  take  a  couple  I'  11  strike  off  tew  shillin',  and 
let  ye  hev  'em  for  tew  dollars  and  seventy-five 
cents." 

"  Land  o'  liberty  !  ye  scare  me,  Jabe !  I  'm  wantin' 
some  nice  handkerchers  wonderfully  jest  now,  but  dear 
me !  I  'd  go  without  to  the  eend  o'  my  days,  afore  I'd 
pay  such  a  price  for  'em." 

"  Wai'  then,  say  tew  dollars  fifty  cents,  I  'm  willin' 
to  let  'em  go  for  that  considerin'  the  shoes." 

"Twenty  shillin'  I  its  awful  high,  I  won't  give  it." 

"  Say  eighteen  shillin'  then,  nobody  could  ax  less 
than  that,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Eighteen  shillin' !  it 's  tew  much — I  can't  afford 
it." 

"  Tew  dollars  then — take  'em  for  tew  dollars — it's 
the  same  as  givin'  on  'em  away.  I  tell  ye  Widder,  ye 
wouldent  git  such  a  chance  if 't  wa'n't  for  my  feelin's 
in  relation  to  them  shoes.  I  told  ye  they  was  worth 
twelve  shillin'  apiece,  and  now  I  offer  'em  tew  ye  for 
tew  dollars  a  pair,  one  dollar  struck  off,  that's  all 
ye  paid  for  the  shoes." 

"  I  never  gi'n  so  much  for  handkerchers  in  all  my 
born  days,  can't  ye  take  no  less  ?" 

"Not  a  cent  Widder,  not  a  cent." 


TBADES    WITH    A    PEDDLEE.  ill 

u  Well,  then,  I  don't  feel  as  if  1  could  afford  to  take 
'em." 

"  And  so  I  s'pose  I  may  as  well  put  'em  up  agin 
— wal,  I  'm  sorry,  not  that  it  would  be  any  objict  to 
me  to  let  them  go  so  cheap,  only  I  thought  I  'd  like 
to  set  my  mind  at  rest  about  the  matter  o'  the  shoes. 
I  Ve  offered  to  make  it  up  and  you  've  refused  to 
have  it  made  up,  so  the  fault  is  yourn,  not  mine,  my 
conscience  is  clear ;  if  folks  will  persirt  in  stannin'  in 
their  own  light  I  can't  help  it,  that 's  all."  (He  re- 
places them  in  the  box.) 

"Lemme  jest  look  at  'em  once  more,  Jabe — these  is 
purty — can't  take  no  less  than  tew  dollars?" 

"  Not  i  red  cent  less ;  and  I  tell  ye  agin  it 's  the 
same  as  giyin'  on  'em  away  at  that." 

"  Sure  they  ain't  half  cotton  ?" 

"  Jest  as  sure  as  I  be  that  my  name  's  Jabez 
Clark." 

"  Well,  then,  I  guess  I  shall  hev  to  take  'em." 

"I  'm  glad  on 't  for  your  sake — as  I  said  afore,  t'  ain't 
no  objict  to  me.  I  Ve  got  a  piece  o'  silk  I  want  to 
show  ye,  Miss  Bedott,  a  very  desirable  article  for  a 
weddin1  dress." 

"Lawful  sakes!  I  hope  ye  don't  think  /want  such 
a  thing." 

"Wai,  folks  tells  singular  stories.  I  heerd  somo- 
Vhing  down  here." 

"  O  shaw  1  't  won't  dew  to  believe  all  ye  hear." 


H2       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"I  sold  Elder  Sniffles  a  black  satting  stock  and  a 
buzzom  pin  yesterday  s'pose  he  wanted  'em  for  a 
particular  occasion." 

"  Git  out  Jabe  I  what  sort  of  a  buzzom  pin  was  it  ?" 
"  Wai,  't  was  a  very  desirable  pin  ;  topiz  sot  in  gold. 
I  sold  it  tew  him  for  a' most  nothing.  I  always  make 
it  a  pint  to  accommodate  the  clergy  in  that  way,  never 
charge  'em  full  price.  I  always  lookt  upon  the  Elder 
as  a  very  gifted  man — I  staid  here  over  the  Sabbath 
once  to  hear  him  preach — I  tell  ye,  "Widder,  't  was 
powerful  pleadin'.  I  'm  ruther  inclined  to  the  Baptist 
order  myself — ben  quaverin'  on  the  subjict  ever  sence 
I  was  brought  out— in  fact  I  've  thought  hard  o'  givin' 
up  the  travelin'  marcantile  business  and  stuiyin'  deol- 
ogy  •  but,  on  the  hull,  I  've  about  gi'n  it  up — 't  would- 
ent  do  for  me  to  be  confined  to  preachin' — my  health 
requires  such  amount  of  exercise.  But  here  's  that 
silk,  did  ye  ever  see  the  beat  on  Tt  ?  now  that  V  what 
I  call  splendid— 4i's  ginniwine  French — they  call  it 
4  grody  —  grody  —  grody'  —  what  the  dogs  —  them 
French  names  is  so  consarnid  hard  to  remember — O, 
I  know  now,  '  grody  .fiewry ;'  jest  take  a  realizin' 
sense  o'  the  colors — how  elegant  them  stripes  is  shaded 
off,  green  and  yaller  and  purple,  reglar  French  try- 
color,  as  they  call  it." 

"It 's  slazy  though,  ther  ain't  much  heft  to 't." 
"Heft!  to  be  sure  'taint  heavy,  but  heavy  silks 
ain't  worn  no  more,  ye  know ;  they  're  all  out  oj  fash- 


TRADES  WITH  A  PEDLEB.     113 

ion — these  ere  light  French  silks  is  all  the  go  now — 
ye  see  folks  has  found  out  how  much  more  durable 
they  be  than  the  heavy  ones — them 's  so  apt  to  crack 
—why  one  o'  these  ere  '11  outlast  a  dozen  on  'em. 
I  Ve  got  jest  a  pattern  on't  left — had  a  hull  piece — 
sold  tew  dresses  off  on  't,  one  to  Judge  Hogobome's 
daughter  in  Greenbush,  and  the  other  to  the  Keverend 
Dr.  Togo's  wife  in  Albany.  Now,  Widder,  what  do  ye 
say  to  takin'  that,  't  would  make  a  most  hyastical  wed- 
din'  dress." 

"  Well,  't  ain't  for  me  to  say  I  'm  wantin'  such  an 
article — but  s'posen  I  was — I've  got  anew  one  that'll 
dew.  Sister  Magwire  pickt  it  out  for  me.  She  hain't 
got  much  taste  about  colors — but  she  ?s  a  good  judge 
of  quality." 

"Got  it  made  up?" 

44  No ;  but  the  mant-maker's  a  comin'  to  morrer  to 
make  it." 

"  Lemme  see  it,  if  ye  please.  I  want  to  compare  it 
with  this."  (She  brings  it).  "  Jingo !— I  '11  be  darn- 
ed  if  't  ain't  stun  color !  the  fag  end  of  all  colors  I 
Why,  a  body  'd  think  't  was  some  everlastin'  old  maid 
tnstid  of  a  handsome  young  widder  that  had  chose 
such  a  distressid  thing  for  a  weddin'  dress." 

"  Lawful  sakes !  I  dident  say  't  was  a  weddin'  dress 
*-and  I  dident  say  I  chose  it  myself:  for,  to  tell  the 
*ruth,  I  dident  more  'n  half  like  it :  but  sister  Magwire 
Btuck  to 't  was  more  suitable  than  ary  other  color — 


114       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

and  then  tew,  she  thought 't  was  such  an  amazin'  good 
piece." 

"  Good  piece  I     Jingo  !  what  lid  ye  pay  for 't  ?" 

"  A  dollar  a  yard.  Ther  !s  twelve  yards  on 't — got 
it  o'  Parker  and  Pettibone,  and  they  said  't  was  fust- 
rate." 

"  Wai,  I  don't  s'pose  they  meant  to  cheat  ye — they  got 
cheated  themselves  when  they  bought  that  silk.  1  al- 
ways knoVd  that  Parker  and  Pettibone  wa'rn't  no 
judges  o'  goods.  The  fact  is,  them  New  York  mar- 
chants  put£  off  their  old  onsailable  articles  onto  'em, 
and  make  'em  think  they  're  ginteel  and  desirable,  I 
tell  ye,  Widder,  ye  got  most  consarnedly  took  in  when 
ye  bought  that  silk.  Ye  won't  wear  it  three  times  afore 
it  '11  crack  out  at  the  elbows,  and  fray  out  round  the 
bottom." 

11  Well,  I  hain't  ben  suited  with  it  none  o'  the  time 
— shouldent  a  got  it  if  sister  Mag  wire  hadent  a  diug- 
dong'd  me  into  't.  Ther  was  a  blue  one  tb.er  't  I  liked 
a  great  deal  better." 

"  I  tell  ye,  Widder,  it  raly  hurts  my  feelins  to  think 
o'  your  standin'  up  along  eide  of  Elder  Sniffles  with 
such  a  consumid  lookin7  thing  on." 

"  O  shaw ! — stop  yer  hectorin'  about  the  Elder.  I 
ain't  obleeged  to  hev  every  body  that 's  after  me." 

"  Wai  I  know  that — only  such  chances  as  Elder 
Sniffles  ain't  to  be  sneezed  at,  ye  know.  But  speakin' 
o'  that  silk — if  't  wa'n't  for  standin'  in  my  own  light 


TRADES  WITH  A  PEDDLEB.      115 

go  coasarnidly,  I  '11  be  darned  if  I  wouldent  offer  to 
swop  for  a  small  matter  o'  boot." 

"  Boot !  that  ?s  wuss  than  the  shoes !  S'pose  I  'd  go 
to  givin'  boot  to  git  rid  on  5t  after  payin'  an  awful 
sight  o  money  for  ''t  in  the  fust  place  ?" 

"  Wai,  't  would  be  rather  aggravatin'  if  you  'd  got 
a  full  pattern — you  hain't  but  twelve  yards.  Of  course 
ye  dident  calkilate  to  hev  no  trimmin',  or  ye  'd  a  got 
more." 

"  1  thought  I  shouldent  trim  it  consider-in' — " 

•'  Yes,  I  understand — considerin'  't  was  for  a  minis- 
ter's wife—" 

"  G-it  out,  Jabe — I  dident  say  so — '' 

"  I  tell  ye,  Widder,  you  're  tew  partickler — minister's 
wives  is  as  dressy  as  any  body.  The  Eeverend  Doc 
tor  Fogo's  wife  had  hern  made  up  with  three  wide  cross- 
grained  pieces  round  the  skirt.  Jingo !  they  sot  it  off 
slick.  These  ere  stripid  silks  look  fust  rate  with  cross- 
grain  trimmin' — seems  to  go  windin'  round  and  round, 
and  looks  so  graceful  kinder.  I  seen  lots  on  'em  in  the 
city.  How  them  city  ladies  would  larf  at  such  a 
dress  as  yourn  !  But  out  here  in  the  country  folks 
don't  know  nothin'." 

11  If  I  'd  a  trusted  to  my  own  taste,  I  shouldent  a 
got  it.  I  wish  to  massy  I  hadent  a  ben  governed  by 
sister  Magvvire." 

"  Jingo !  wouldent  it  be  quite  an  idee  for  you  to  be 
*he  fust  in  Scrabble  Hill  to  come  out  in  a  '  grody  flew- 


116       WIDOW  BETOTT  PAPERS; 

ry.'  Them  colors  would  be  \v  c  nderf ul becomin7  to  you. 
Jest  lemme  hold  it  up  to  ye  and  you  stan'  up  and  look 
in  the  glass.  Jingo  1  it 's  becominer  than  I  thought 
't  would  be.  I  tell  ye  Widder,  you  mist  hev  that  silk, 
and  no  mistake." 

"  Dear  me  I  I  wish  I  could  afford  to  swop— What 's 
itwoth?" 

"  Wai,  I  can't  expect  to  git  the  full  vaUy  on 't.  I  'D 
sell  it  tew  ye  as  low  as  I  feel  as  if  I  could — it 's  a 
high-priced  silk — bein'  as  it  's  so  fashionable  now; 
but  I  '11  tell  you,  Miss  Bedott^-though  I  w^uldent  tell 
every  body — the  fact  is,  I  got  that  silk  at  ?  bargin, 
and  of  course  I  can  afford  to  let  it  go  for  considerable 
less  than  I  could  if  I  'd  a  paid  foil  price,  Ye  see  the 
marchant  I  took  it  of  was  on  the  pint  o'  failin',  and 
glad  to  sell  out  for  any  money.  He  dident  ax  but  a 
dollar  a  yard. — Ther  's  fourteen  yards  left,  as  you  can 
see  by  the  folds — and  you  maj-  hev  it  for  fourteen  dol- 
lars, jest  what  it  cost  me.  I  tell  ye,  widder,  it 's  a 
bargin." 

"  Land  o'  liberty  I  fourteen  dollars  I  I  can't  think 
on't." 

"Wai,  then,  I'll  dew  still  better  by  ye.  T  want 
you  should  hev  this  silk — so  s'pozen  I  take  yourn  off 
yer  hands,  and  you  take  this,  and  jest  pa 7  me  the  bal 
ance.  Mabby  I  could  sell  that  to  some  distressid  o^d 
quaker  woman  that  wants  an  every-day  frock— and 
what  if  couldent,  I  should  hev  the  satisfaction  o' 


Stop  a  minute,  Jake,  IM  resk  it.  It's  time  I  was  my  own  mistress  any  how.  I  kno 
sister  Maguire'll  say  it's  tew  gay  for  me,  and  call  it  flambergasted,  but  I  dont  care.- 
PACK  117. 


TRADES  WITH  A  PEDDLER.      117 

dewin'  you  a  favor  any  how. — What  d  'ye  say  to 
that?" 

*'  Lemme  see — the  balance — that  would  be  tew  dol- 
lars. I  Ve  paid  twelve  for  t'  other  already.  I  don't 
know  about  spendin  so  much  money — don't  know 
what  sister  Maguire  'd  say  to  't.  She 's  gone  over  to 
see  old  aunt  Betsy  Crocket — aunt  Betsey  's  sick.  Sis- 
ter Maguire  hates  striped  silk,  and  pedlars  tew — won'1 
never  trade  with  'em — " 

"  Jingo !  come  to  think  on  't,  I  'm  a  tarnal  goose  to 
be  willin'  to  stand  in  my  own  light  jest  for  the  sake  of 
accommodatin'  the  wimmin  folks — 't  ain't  no  object 
to  me."  (He  folds  up  the  sijk.) 

"  Stop  a  minnit,  Jabe.  I  '11  resk  it.  It 's  time  I 
was  my  own  mistress,  any  how.  I  knoAV  sister  Ma- 
guire '11  say  it 's  tew  gay  for  me,  and  call  it  flambergas- 
ted,  but  I  don't  care — " 

"  Gay !     I  wish  to  massy  she  could  sec  a  dress  that 
Elder  Cole's  wife  out  east  has  got — entirely  red — the 
reddest  kind  o'  red  tew — stripes  a.&  wide  as  my  hand 
Thai 's  ruther  flambergasted  for  a  minister's  wife.     So 
ye  think  ye  '11  take  it  hey  ?" 

4<  Dunno  but  I  will  on  the  hull." 

*'  Wai,  I  s'pose  I  'd  orto  stan  to  my  offer-  >but  I  tell 
ye,  Widder  it 's  a  bargin." 

"  fourteen  yarat,  ye  say  T'v 

"  Fourteen  yards  plump — ye  may  count  the  folds  at 
the  edge.  Ye  can  hev  cross-grain  trimmiti'  if  ye  takr 


118  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

a  notion.  Jingo  !  won't  it  give  the  Scrabble  Hill  wim- 
min  fits  to  see  ye  with  that  on  ?" 

"  Well,  I  '11  take  it.  See,  how  much  do  I  3we  ye 
now?" 

"  But  can't  I  sell  ye  any  thin'  else?" 


XIL 

ffiitoto  anfc  $tmt  Kapitt  Sistrorie  OB 


"  T  SAY,  sister  Magwire  —  this  ere  's  a  miserable  mean 
kind  of  a  world,  for  I  Ve—  " 

"  I  don't  agree  with  yen,  Silly.  I  think  it  '?  a  very 
good  sort  of  a  world  if  a  tody  looks  at  in  a  right 
point  o'  view.  Most  o'  folks  in  it  used  me  well,  and  I 
guess  they  '11  continner  to  dew  so  as  long  as  I  use  them 
well.  For  my  part  I  'm  satisfied  with  the  world  gin* 
erally  speakin." 

"  Well,  s'pozen  ye  be,  that  's  no  sign  't  every  body 
else  had  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  it.  You  was  al- 
ways a  wonderful  satisfied  critter.  You  think  every 
body  's  dretful  nice  and  dretful  clever." 

"Now  sister  Bedott  you  know  that  ain't  so  —  you 
know  ther  's  some  folks  't  I  Ve  got  a  tumble  meaF 
opinion  of." 

"  I  know  ther  w  a  few  't  ye  don't  like  —  but  I  mean 
as  a  gineral  thing  you  seem  to  think  the  most  o'  folks 
is  jest  about  right.  For  my  part,  I  'd  ruther  see  things 


120      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

as  they  actilly  be.  I  shouldent  want  to  be  so  awful 
contented." 

"  I  should  think  so — for  you  ain't  never  contented 
only  when  you  Ve  got  some  thing  to  be  discontented 
about." 

"  Well,  if  that 's  the  case,  I  'd  ought  to  be  content- 
ed the  heft  o'  the  time,  for  my  trouble  is  continniwal." 

"  How  you  talk,  sister  Bedott !  I  thought  you  had- 
ent  nothing  to  complain  of  now-a-days.  I  know 't 
along  after  your  husband  died  you  wus  in  ruther  poor 
circumstances  and  used  to  grumble  a  good  deal — but 
seems  to  me  you  'd  ought  to  be  contented  and  thank- 
ful now.  Yer  children's  growd  up  to  be  blessins  tew 
ye,  and  now  they  're  both  settled  and  dewin  fast  rate. 
And  sence  father  was  took  away,  and  the  property 
was  divided,  you  Ve  had  enough  to  keep  ye  comfort- 
able, and  more  tew." 

"O  lawful  sakes!  I  dident  mean  't  I  was  poverty 
struck.  Ther  's  other  kinds  o'  trouble  besides  that — 
ain't  thar  ?  If  you  'd  a  ben  in  Wiggletown  durin'  the 
last  few  years,  and  seen  how  every  body  was  a  peckin' 
at  me,  and  a  try  in'  to  put  me  down,  you  'd  a  thought 
I  had  somethin1  to  try  me.  Yon  wouldent  jaw  me  for 
thinkin'  the  world 's  a  dretful  mean  place — fall  o' 
dretful  queer  folks." 

"  0  dear  suz !  Some  folks  is  always  a  talkin'  about 
other  folks'  bein'  queer,  while,  like  enough,  it 's  them- 
selves that 's  queer,  after  all." 


DISCOURSE    ON    VARIOUS    TOPICS.      121 

"I  hope  ye  don't  mean  to  insinniwate  't  Pm  queer, 


"  O  no,  Silly.  I  dident  mean  to  insinniwate  that — 
but  then  ye  know  almost  every  body  has  ther  queer 
streaks." 

"Yes — I  know  it's  a  pecooliarity  natral  to  every- 
body to  be  queer  about  some  things — but  then  some 
folks  is  queerer  'n  others." 

"Jest  so,  Silly — some  folks  is  actilly  queer — and 
some  folks  thinks  some  other  folks  queer  'cause  they 
don't  happen  to  think  jist  as  they  dew  on  some  pints. 
We  think  some  indiwiddiwals  is  queer  cause  they 
differ  from  us,  and  mabbe  they  think  we  Ve  queer 
cause  we  differ  from  them.  We  'd  ought  to  be  earful 
how  we  call  other  folks  queer,  for  the  fact  is  we  're  all 
queer  more  or  less — and  them  that  lives  in  glass 
houses  mustent  throw  stuns." 

"  I  wa'n't  a  thrdwin'  stuns  as  I  know  on  when  I  said 
't  was  a  queer  world — for  1t  is — specially  that  part  on't 
called  Wiggletown.  Scrabble  Hill  don't  seem  to  be 
such  a  sort  of  a  place  at  all,  as  fur  as  I  'm  able  to  judge. 
I  think  the  inhabbiters  is  quite  intellectible,  as  a  gin- 
eral  thing — and  oncommon  perlite,  tew.  I  m  quite 
pleased  with  the  Scrabble  Hill  folkL.  There's  Dr. 
Lippincott — he  's  quite  a  science  man,  I  should  think, 
from  the  way  he  talks." 

"  Mabbe  he  is — can't  say — for  I  can't  understand 
much  o'  what  he  says,  he  talks  so  big." 


L22       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  I  shouldent  wonder  if  you  couldent — but  that  ain't 
no  sign  nobody  can't.  I  was  quite  pleased  with  him, 
and  his  wife,  tew — they  seemed  so  friendly — took  sitch 
an  interest  in  my  health,  and  was  so  consarned  about 
my  cough  that  night  they  called  on  me." 

<;  Yes — I  guess  they  Ve  got  an  idee  your  a  rich  wid- 
der,  livin'  on  the  interest  o'  yer  money — husband  says 
ther '«  such  a  3tory  'round — shouldent  wonder  if  hus- 
band started  it  .aimself,  jist  to  see  what  would  be  the 
effect  on  V 

"  I  shouldent  n other,  he  's  so  full  o'  mischief — but 
you  don't  s'pose  that 's  what  makes  the  Peabodys,  and 
the  Buels,  and  the  Fusticks,  and  the  Hugles  so  peilite 
tew  me,  dew  ye  ?" 

"01  ain't  no  rite  to  say  'tis — I  'm  sure  I  'm  glad 
they  're  so  attentive — it  '11  make  yer  visit  pleasanter." 

"  Jest  so — seems  to  me  Miss  Deacon  Fustick  's  a 
singlar  woman — she  seems  to  be  intirely  took  up  with 
the  '  anti-tea-and-cofFee  society' — talked  to  me  all  the 
time  she  was  here  about  it — said  I  might  depend  on 't 
that  all  that  made  me  so  thin,  and  have  such  a  cough, 
was  drinkin'  tea  and  coffee.  If  she  runs  me  so  every 
time  I  see  her  I  guess  I  shall  keep  clear  on  her—  for  I 
won't  give  up  my  tea  and  coffee  for  her  nor  nobody 
else." 

"  0  lawful  sakes !    Ye  needent  be  afeard  o'  that — 

• 

she  '11  be  on  to  something  new  afore  long.     SLe  takes 
up  every  thing  that  comes  along,  and  gits  all  engaged 


DISCOURSE    ON    VARIOUS    TOPICS,      123 

about  it.  A  spell  ago  she  was  wide  awake  against 
Sabbath-breaJdn',  and  dident  talk  about  nothin  else — 
then  't  was  moral  reform — next  come  Millerism — " 

"  Now  that  makes  me  think  of  old  mother  Green 
in  Wiggletown.  You  remember  old  Jabe  Green  'a 
wife ! — she  was  always  jest  so  carried  away  with  every 
new  thing,  ye  know.  Tew  or  three  years  ago,  when 
Millerism  was  makin'  such  a  noise,  ther  was  a  feller 
along  lecturin'  about  it — and  a  number  o'  the  Wiggle- 
town  folks  raly  thought  ther  was  something  in  it.  But 
old  Miss  Green  was  clear  killed  up  with  it.  She  give 
up  all  bizness,  and  dident  dew  nothin'  but  traipse 
round  from  house  to  house  a  takin'  on  about  the  eend 
o'  the  world — 't  was  a  comin'  afore  long.  "Well — one 
day  she  come  into  Sam  Pendergrasses — 't  was  afore 
old  Miss  Pendergrass,  Sam's  mother,  died.  She  was 
a  livin'  with  'em — and  ye  know  she  was  a  woman 
that  always  minded  her  own  bizness.  Well — she  sot 
ther  at  her  loom  a  weavin'  away — she  was  a  great 
hand  to  weave,  the  old  lady  was.  Sam's  wife  was  a 
settin'  there  tew — 't  was  Sam's  wife  told  me  about  it. 
Well — Miss  Green  she  sot  dcwn  in  the  rockin'  cheer, 
with  her  face  half  a  yard  long,  an  she  hauled  out  hei 
snuff-box  (she  was  an  all-to-pieces  snuff-taker  ye  know) 
and  she  begun  to  snuff  and  rock,  and  rock  and  snuflj 
as  hard  as  ever  she  j3ould,  and  every  once  in  a  while 
Bheld  heave  a  tumble  sythe,  Lyme-by  sa^s  she, 
( Miss  Pendergrass,  do  you  expect  to  finish  that  web  ?? 


124  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPEKS. 

'"Well,  I  rather  guess  I  shall,'  says  the  old  lady,  says 
she,  '  if  I  live.'  '  If  you  live?  says  Miss  Green,  '  that  'a 
the  pint — for  my  part  I  Ve  sot  my  house  in  order,  and 
I  'm  ready  to  go  any  minnit,  and  I  wish  you  could 
say  the  same.  It 's  raly  a  moloncolly  sight  to  see  you 
BO  occupied  with  the  consarns  o'  this  world  that 's  jest 
a  comin'  to  and  eend.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  set 
there  a  weavin'  a  piece  o'  cloth  when  the  day  o'  the 
Lord 's  so  nigh  at  hand,'  and  she  took  a  normous  pinch 
o'  snuff,  and  gi'n  a  dretful  groan.  '  Well,'  says  old 
Miss  Pendergrass,  says  she,  '  I  'm  glad  you  feel  so  sar- 
tin  about  yer  condition — I  'd  as  lieve  the  Lord  would 
finu  me  a  weavin'  cloth  as  a  takin*  snuff."1 " 

"  Well,  that  was  a  good  un  I  It  ought  to  stopped 
the  old  woman's  mouth  and  sot  her  a  thinkin'.  Miss 
Fustick  is  some  such  a  woman  in  some  respects." 

"I  was  pleased  to  hear  Cappen  Smalley  take  up 
agin  her  in  favor  o'  tea  and  coffee,  t'  other  night,  in  to 
Miss  Grimes's.  By  the  way,  Cappen  Smallsy  's  quite 
an  intellectible  man,  ain't  he  ?" 

"Why,  yes — he  knows  enough.  It  kind  o'  strikes 
me  he 's  a  steppin'  up  to  Charity—  -seems  to  go  thsre 
considerable." 

"You  don't  I  Well  ther  's  no  accountin'  for  tastes, 
I  dew  say.  I  should  a  took  the  cappen  for  a  man  d1 
better  judgment  than  to  be  pleased  with  such  a  critter 
Don't  you  think  she  's  awful  disagreeable  ?" 

"  Well,  1  must  say  I  don't  admire  her  no  great." 


DISCOURSE    ON    VARIOUS    TOPICS.      126 

"And  then  she's  so  awful  humbly  tew.  What  a 
draw  up  nose  she's  got!  And  she's  so  turribly  af 
fected  and  stuck  up.  I  took  a  dislike  tew  her  the 
first  time  I  ever  see  her — when  she  come  in  here  with 
her  mother.  The  widder  's  a  skew-jawed  oncomforta- 
ble  lookin'  old  critter,  ain't  she  ?" 

"  Yes — and  no  wonder,  for  she 's  tew  stingy  to  feel 
comfortable,  and  of  course  she  can't  look  so.  You 
was  sayin',  a  spell  ago,  that  I  thought  every  body  was 
dretful  nice,  and  dretful  clever,  and  I  told  ye  ther  was 
some  folks  I  had  a  tumble  mean  opinion  of — well,  the 
Widder  Grimes  is  one  on  'em — she's  the  meanest 
woman  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  Is,  hay !  Well  I  reckoned  whether  or  no  she  wa'n't 
when  I  seen  her." 

"  And  Charity  's  a  chip  o'  the  old  block.  They  git 
their  livin'  by  visitin'  and  borrerin'.  They  keep  that 
little  black  girl  o'  theirn  on  a  trot  the  heft  o'  the  time 
— runnin'  after  a  little  piece  o'  butter  here,  a  half  a  loaf 
o*  bread  there,  and  a  little  o'  this  that  and  t'  other  in 
another  place— and  they  ain't  everlastin'  particklei 
about  payin*.  They  borrer  a  good  deal  o'  me,  and  I 
gmerally  let  'em  have  it.  'T  ain't  much  they  ax  for 
at  once,  and  I  hate  to  refuse  when  I  Ve  got  it  in  the 
house.  They  send  every  lew  days  for  a  slice  or  tew 
of  bread,  and  so  ii  goes  on  for  some  time — till  wh.it 
they  Ve  got  amounts  to  mabbe,  half  a  dozen  loaves— - 
and  then  the  little  nigger  comes  in  with  a  loaf  o'  bread. 


J26       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

and  says  she,  '  Missy  Grimes  sends  this  loaf  o'  bread 
and  wants  Missy  Magwire  to  take  off  what's  right, 
The  last  time  she  sent  hum  bread  in  that  way — only 
a  few  days  ago — husband  was  in — I  took  the  loaf  and 
was  a  gwine  to  cut  off  a  piece  as  usual — but  husband 
laid  his  hand  on  my  arm,  and  says  he,  '  Stop,  Melissy 
— don't  you  cut  that — here,  Snowball,  take  it  hum 
and  tell  Miss  Grimes  't  wouldent  be  right  to  take  off 
none  on  V  I  don't  know  whether  they  took  the  hint 
— time  '11  show.  But  I  got  rid  o'  ther  borrerin'  coffee 
the  slickest — or  ruther  husband  did — 'twas  his  dew 
ins.  They  used  to  send  about  once  a  week  afitei 
coffee — and  once  in  a  while  they  'd  send  hum  a  cup 
full,  ready  ground — and  of  all  things !  such  miserable 
stuff  I  never  laid  my  mouth  tew  I  't  was  as  black  as 
dirt.  I  biled  some  on 't  once  or  twice,  and  then  I  gin 
it  up — for  husband  nor  Jeff  wouldent  nary  one  on 
'em  touch  it — they  declared  't  wa'n't  nothin'  but  burnt 
bread-crusts.  At  last,  one  day  when  Miss  Grimes 
sent  hum  some  coffee,  husband  happened  to  be  in. 
After  the  nigger  'd  gone  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  :  Now, 
Melissy,  you  save  that  coffee,  and  the  next  time  Miss 
Grimes  sends  to  borrer,  jest  give  it  tew  hsr.'  Well, 
't  want  long  afore  they  sent  agin.  Dianny  come  in 
with  her  cup  and  said  Missy  Grimes  had  company 
come  onexpected,  and  hadent  no  coffee  burnt,  and 
wanted  to  git  a  little.  So  I  goes  to  the  cubberd  and 
fetches  out  the  same  old  stuff  and  gives  it  tew  her 


DISCOURSE    ON    VARIOUS    TOPICS.      127 

1  tell  ye  I  felt  rather  mean  when  I  gi'n  it  tew  her, 
but  then  I  'd  promised  husband  I  would,  and  besides. 
I  kind  o'  wanted  to  see  how  't  would  operate.  That 
was  three  months  ago,  and  they  hain't  sent  for  coffee 
sence." 

"  Well  that  was  about  the  cutest  thing  I  ever  heerd 
o'  your  dewin,  Melissy.     You  sarved  'em  right.     But 
ain't  it  curus  't  Cappen  Smalley  should  be  pleased  with 
Charity  ?  wonder  if  he  knows  how  mean  they  be  ?" 
"  If  he  did  't  would  be  a  recommendation  tew  him." 
"What!  Cappen  Smalley  ain't  a  tight  man,  is  he?" 
"  Tight !  yes,  tight  as  the  skin  tew  his  back." 
"Well,  now,  I  am  beatl     Why  how  oncommon 
good  and  ginerous  he  talked  t7  other  night,  when  he 
come  in  to  Parson  Tattle  's,  when  we  was  there  to  tea 
— seemed  to  be  so  ingaged  in  every  menevolent  opera- 
tion.' 

"  Yes,  he 's  famous  for  wishin'  't  every  body  might 
be  warmed  and  clothed ;  but  somehow  or  another  he 
never  hands  over.  Whenever  any  body  goes  tew  him 
with  a  subscription-paper,  he  always  seems  highly  de- 
lighted with  it — says  it 's  an  •  excellent  objick — an 
objick  he  feels  wonderfully  interested  in — he  does 
hope  they  '11  succeed  m  raisin'  enough  for  !« — rt  would 
be  shameful  if  they  dident.  But  he  'd  rather  not  put 
his  name  down — he  has  an  aversion  to  inakin'  a  dis- 
play —he  wishes  thej  'd  go  all  round  and  raise  what 
they  can.  and  if  they  don't  git  enough,  come  to  him; 


128      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

and  he  '11  make  up  what 's  lackiri.  Somehow  or  another 
it  don't  often  happen  't  he 's  called  on  to  make  up 
what 's  lackin' :  when  he  is,  lie 's  generally  niissin'. 
Parson  Tuttle  don't  seem  to  see  through  him  yet — he 
thinks  he 's  a  wonderful  charitable  man." 

"  Speakin'  o'  Parson  Tuttle — seems  to  me  he  ain't 
very  deep}1 

"O,  Parson  Turtle's  considerable  of  a  man;  he's 
young  yet.,  but  I  think  he  's  got  a  good  deal  o'  stami- 
ny  in  him.  He  '11  improve  as  he  grows  older." 

"  "vTell,  whether  he  improves  or  not,  it 's  my  opin- 
ion he  won't  never  be  able  io  held  a  candle  to  Elder 
Sniffles." 

"  Granf'ther  grievous  I  you  ain't  in  airnest,  Silly  ?" 

"  I  be  tew.  I  think  Elder  Sniffles  is  equil  to  Parson 
Potter." 

"  Well,  T  '11  give  it  Tip  now.  I  always  thought  the 
elder  was  ruther  of  a  dough-head." 

"Nothin*  but  prejudice,  Melissy — nothin'  in  the 
world  but  prejudice,  'cause  he  happens  to  belong  to  a 
different  seek  from  yourn — 't  ain't  right  to  be  so  set  in 
yer  way." 

"  Deary  me,  Silly  !  seems  to  me  you  're  got  to  be 
wonderful  forbeann',  lately;  you  used  to  blaze  away 
about  the  Baptists  turnbly." 

"  I  know  I  dident  use  to  like  'em  much,  but 't  was 
'cause  J  dident  know  much  about  'em,  and  husband 
you  know,  couldent  Lear  'em.1' 


DISCOURSE    ON    VARIOUS    TOPICS.      129 

"  Well,  I  disremember  about  that ;  but  I  dew  reinem 
ber  o'  hearin'  you  blow  him  up  once  for  gwlne  to  Bap- 
tist meetin'." 

"  Well,  I  say  for  \  your  memory 's  wonderful  good 
— considerable  better  'n  mine.  Any  how — s'posen  a 
body  does  dislike  a  sartin  seek,  and  express  ther  senti- 
ments agin  'em — is  that  any  reason  why  they  should 
ent  be  open  to  conviction,  and  alter  ther  minds  con 
sarnin'  em  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  not — but  it  does  seem  queer  to  me 't 
you  should  be  so  eat  up  with  Elder  Sniffles,  when  you 
hain't  heerd  him  preach  but  once :  but  he  's  widdiwer 
now,  and  I  s'pose  that  makes  his  preachin'  a  good  deal 
interestiner.  Shouldent  wonder  if  you  'd  heerd  he  'd 
lost  his  wife,  afore  you  went  to  his  meetin' — hadent 
ye  ?  now,  Silly,  own  up." 

"  Melissy  Magwire !  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you  mean  to  insinniwate.  If  I  take  a  notion  to  go  to 
Baptist  meetin'  or  any  other  meetin',  I  got  a  right  to 
dew  it,  and  I  will  dew  it  as  much  as  I  'm  a  mind  tew, 
and  if  my  motives  is  impunged,  I  can't  help  it—that 's 
all." 

Enter  Mr.  Maguire — "  What  ye  jawin',  about,  now  ?" 

"  We  wa'n't  a  jawin',  was  we,  sister  Bedott  ?  we 
was  only  discussinV 

"Cussin',  hey?  well,  then,  what  was  ye  cus&in 
about?" 

"  What  a  critter  you  be  to  misunderstand !     I  did 
6* 


130       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

ent  say  cussin\  but  c?tscussin'.  We  was  discussin'  Elder 
Sniffles — ye  know  Silly  thinks  he  's  something  super- 
natral." 

"  Haw  !  haw !  haw !  what  if  Silly  should  git  to  be 
a  Baptist!  wouldent  it  be  a  joke,  though?  But  look 
here,  Silly,  you  must  be  earful  how  ye  set  yer  traps 
for  the  elder — it  might  be  dangerous  to  interfere  with 
Sally  Hugle's  pretensions.  Don't  ye  s'pose  wife,  that 
Sally  's  ruther  a  squintin'  that  way  ?" 

"  Well,  I  shouldent  wonder  if  she  was ;  I  don't 
s'pose  she  'd  have  any  serus  objections  to  changin'  her 
condition.  That  are  piece  of  poitry  o'  hern,  that  cum 
out  in  the  paper  last  week,  looked  ruther  pinted^  did* 
ent  it?" 

"  What  I  sister  Magwire,  you  don't  mean  to  say  't 
Sally  Hugle  writes  poitry  ?" 

"Lawful  sakes,  yes !  she  writes  bushels  on  \ — curus 
kind  o'  poitry,  tew.  Ther  's  some  on  't  comes  out  al- 
most every  week  in  the  '  Scrabble  Hill  Luminary 
She  signs  it  'Hugeliner.'  She  generally  calls  'em 
'sunnets1 — Jeff  says  they  ought  to  be  called  moonets, 
cause  they  're  always  full  o'  stuff  about  the  moon  and 
stars,  and  so  on.  She  's  always  groanin'  away  about 
her  inward  griefs,  and  unknown  miseries.  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  on  't.  Sally  Hugle  never  had  no  par- 
tickler  trouble  as  I  know  on — without  't  was  her  not 
bein  able  to  ketch  a  husband." 

"  See,  wife — what  was  that  she  writ  on  the  death  of 


DI8COUBSE    ON    VAEIOUS    TOPICS       131 

Elder  Sniffleses  wife?  can't  you  remember  some  on 't 
[  thought  that  was  about  as  rich  as  any  thing  o'  hern 
[  'd  seen." 

"  Lemme  see.  I  'm  sure  I  'd  ought  to  remember  it ; 
for  Jeff  had  it  over  all  the  time  for  about  a  week — a 
singin'  it  through  his  nose  to  the  tune  o'  '  Saint  Mar- 
tins'— that  goes  shakin'  up  and  down  ye  know,  kind  o' 
sollem.  Less  see — seems  to  me  this  was  the  way  it 
begun. — 

'  As  droops  the  pale  effulgent  flower. 

By  wintry  breezes  tried — 

So,  in  an  onexpected  hour, 

Dear  Missis  Snifflea  died.' 

Now  what  comes  next  ?     Oh,  I  remember — 

'  No  moie  her  sorrowin'  pardner  hears 

The  voice  he  loved  below — 
While  tears,  unmitigated  tears, 
Eevepl  his  bosom's  woe, 

la  that  respect  such  grief  as  hisen 

IP  different  from  my  own, 
Which,  in  my  heart's  dark  mournful  prison, 

Lies  ranklin'  unbeknown  ' 

"  Ther  s  moie  on  :t,  but  I  forgit  what  rtis." 

"  That 's  enough  any  way,  wife — what  do  ye  think 
on  't,  sister  Bedott — spose  ye  could  beat  it?" 

"  I  should,  be  sorry  if  I  couldent — why  I  could 
make  better  poitry  'n  that  by  throwin'  an  inkstand  at 
a  sheet  o'  paper.  I  wonder  if  she  expects  the  elder  '!] 
be  took  with  such  sfciT.  If  he  is,  I  'm  mistaken." 

"  S'pose  you  take  bold,  then,  and  see  if  ye  can't 


132       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEES. 

write  her  down — wouldent  it  be  a  capital  idee,  wife, 
for  Silly  to  write  a  piece  o'  poitry  to  the  elder,  and 
have  it  printed  in  the  *  Luminary.'  Come  on,  Silly — 
that  you  writ  on  Miss  Crane's  death  was  very  toitchin\ 
though  it  dident  seem  to  touch  Mr.  Crane  much." 

"  Brother  Magwire,  I  look  upon  't  as  an  insult,  to 
have  old  Crane's  name  mentioned  in  my  hearin' — con- 
Biderin'  all  the  lies  that 's  told  about  him  and  me,  and 
all  the  trouble  his  disagreeable  attentions  gin  me — and 
I  hope  in  futur  you  '11  keep  silent  on  that  onpleasant 
subjick." 

"  I  beg  yer  pardon,  sister  Bedott.  I  forgot  you  was 
so  sore  on  that  pint.  But  I  'm  in  arnest  about  that 
poitry.  Why  not  try,  and  see  if  you  can't  beat  '  Hu- 
geliner' all  holler." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  're  changed  yer  mird  about  my 
Doitry ;  you  used  to  turn  up  yer  nose  ai  It." 

"  0,  well,  my  ta^te  improves  as  I  git  older.  I  ad- 
mire poitry  more  'n  i  used  to." 

"  Well,  I  '11  show  you  some  srarses  I  writ  a  spell  ago 
on  the  Mexican  War — and  see  what  you  think  on 
'em  "  (She  goes  to  bring  them,  and  Mrs.  Maguire  re- 
marks— ) 

'•'Now,  Joshaway,  ain'*  you  ashamed  o'  yerself! 
You  'd  ought  to  know  better  'n  to  go  to  puttin'  Silly 
up  to  writin'  poitry — first  we  know  she  '11  be  a  sendin' 
some  of  her  stuff  to  the  'Luminary,'  and  it  '11  make 
her  ridickilous,  and  us  tew." 


DISCOURSE    ON    VARIOUS    TOPICS.      133 

11  Don't  fret  your  gizzard,  Melissy.  Nobody  won't 
think  nothing  she  does  is  ridickilous — for  ye  know  its 
ginerally  thought  she  's  a  rich  widder,  and  every  body  '11 
be  ready  to  swaller  her  poitry — I  don't  care  if  it 's  the 
tarnalest  mess  o  stuff  that  ever  was  put  together." 


xnr. 

%  8®i&0to  (rafting  fmfc  tfcat  <£te  SniflUs  is  Sitk, 
fflritts  to  Jim. 

DEAR  ELDER: 
T~  DON'T  know  but  wliat  you  '11  consider  it  ruther 

forrard  in  me  to  trouble  you  with  this  epistol,  bein' 
as  I  'me  a'  most  a  strainger ;  but  I  hope  youle  over- 
look my  appearent  want  of  judition,  and  attribit  this 
communication  to  the  oncommon  interest  I  take  in 
your  welfare,  Sence  the  first  time  I  heerd  you  preach, 
I  've  had  had  an  undescriberble  desire  to  hev  some 
privil  conversation  with  you,  in  regard  to  the  state  o' 
my  mind — your  discourse  was  so  wonderful  searchin' 
that  I  felt  to  mourn  over  my  backslidden  state  o' 
stewpidity,  and  my  consarn  has  increased  every  time 
I  Ve  sot  under  the  droppin's  o'  your  sanctuery.  Last 
night  when  I  heerd  o'  your  sickness,  I  felt  wonderful 
overcome ;  onable  to  conseal  my  aggitation,  I  retired 
to  my  chamber,  and  bust  into  a  flood  o'  tears.  I  felt 
for  you,  Elder  Sniffles — I  felt  for  you  I  was  won- 
derful exercised  in  view  of  your  lone  condition.  0, 
it  'd  a  terrible  thing  to  be  alone  in  the  world !  I  know 


WRITES    TO    ELDER    SNIFFLES.          135 

all  about  it  by  experience,  for  I  Ve  ben  pardnerless 
for  nigh  twelve  year ;  it 's  a  tryin'  thing,  but  I  thought 
'I  was  better  to  be  alone  than  to  run  enny  resk — for 
you  know  it 's  runnin'  a  grate  resk  to  take  a  second 
companion,  espeshelly  if  they  ain't  decidedly  pious—- 
and them  that's  tried  to  perswade  me  to  change  my 
condition,  dident  none  on  'em  give  very  satisfactory 
evidence  of  pioty — 't  ain't  for  me  to  say  how  menny 
I  Ve  refused  on  account  o'  ther  want  o'  religion. 
Accordin'  to  my  notions,  riches  and  grander  ain't  to 
be  compaired  to  religion,  no  how  you  can  fix  it,  and 
T  always  told  em  so.  But  I  was  a  tellin'  how  over- 
come I  was  when  I  heerd  o;  your  bein'  attackted  with 
influenzy.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  go  right  over  and  take 
care  of  you.  I  wouldent  desire  no  better  intertain 
ment  than  to  nuss  you  up,  and  if  't  wa'n't  for  the 
speech  o'  peeple,  I  'd  fly  to  your  relefe  instanter ;  but 
I  know  't  would  make  talk,  and  so  I  feel  necessiated  to 
stay  away.  But  I  felt  so  consarned  about  you,  that 
I  couldent  help  writin'  these  few  lines  to  let  you  know 
how  anxious  I  be  on  your  account,  and  to  beg  c'  you 
to  take  care  o'  yerself.  0  dder,  do  be  carefuJ — the 
iaiiuenzy  's  a  dangerous  epedemio  if  you  let  it  TUL.  oil 
without  attendin'  to  it  in  season.  Do  be  kerful — con- 
sider what  a  terrible  thing  't  would  be  for  you  to  be 
took  away  in  the  haight  of  yer  usefulness ;  and  O, 
elder,  nobody  wouldent  feel  yer  loss  with  more  inten- 
situde  than  what  I  should,  though  mebby  I  hadent 


136  WIDOW    BEDOTT    P APE US 

ought  to  say  so.  O,  Elder  Sniffles,  I  feel  as  if  I 
couldent  part  with  you,  no  how.  I  'me  so  interested 
in  your  preachin',  and  it 's  had  such  a  wonderful  at- 
tendency  to  subdew  my  prejudices  aginst  your  de- 
nomination, and  has  sot  me  a  considerin'  whether  or 
no  I  wa'n't  in  the  wrong.  O,  reverend  elder,  I  intreat 
you  to  take  case  o'  yer  preshus  helth.  I  send  you 
herewith  a  paper  o'  boneset,  you  must  make  some 
good  stiff  tea  out,  and  drink  about  a  quart  to-night 
afore  you  retire.  Molasses  and  vinegar 's  a  good 
thing  too  for  a  cold  or  coff ;  jest  take  about  a  pint  o' 
molasses  and  bile  it  down  with  a  teacup  of  vinegar 
and  a  hunk  o'  butter  as  big  as  a  hen's  egg,  and  stir  in 
about  a  half  a  teacup  full  of  pepper  sass,  and  eat  it 
down  hot  jest  afore  bedtime — and  take  a  strip  o' 
flannil,  and  rub  some  hog's  lard  on 't,  though  goose 
ile  's  about  as  good,  and  pin  it  round  yer  throte  right 
off;  and  I  send  likewise  a  bag  o'  hops ;  you  must  dip 
it  in  bilin'  vinegar,  and  lay  it  on  yer  chist  when  yo\i 
go  to  bed,  and  keep  a  dippin'  on  't  as  fast  as  it  begins 
to  git  cool;  and  jest  afore  you  git  into  bed,  s'Ae  yer 
feet  in  bilin'  hot  water  with  some  red  peppers  in  it , 
now  don't  forgit  nothin3 1  've  proscribed.  But  I  was 
a  tellin'  how  exercised  I  felt  last  night  when  I  heard 
o'  your  sickness.  I  went  immejitly  to  my  chamber, 
and  gin  way  to  my  gfefe  in  a  violent  ilood  of  tears. 
I  retired  to  my  couch  o'  repose,  but  my  aggitation 
pervented  my  sleepin'.  I  felt  quite  a  call  to  express 


WRITES    TO    ELDER    SNIFFLES.         137 

my  feelin's  in  poitry — I  'me  very  apt  to  when  enny 
thing  comes  over  me — so  I  riz  and  lifted  my  candle, 
and  composed  these  stanzys,  which  I  hope  will  be 
agreeable  to  you. 

O  reverend  sir,  I  do  declare, 

It  drives  me  a'  most  to  frenzy, 
To  think  o'  you  a  lyin'  there 

Down  sick  with  influenzy. 

A  body  'd  a  thought  it  was  enough 

To  mourn  yer  wife's  departer, 
Without  such  trubble  as  this  'ere 

To  come  a  follerin'  artet. 

But  sickness  and  affliction  is  trials  Bent 

By  the  will  o'  a  wise  creation, 
And  allways  ought  to  be  underwent 

With  fortytude  and  resignation. 

Then  mourn  not  for  yer  pardner's  death 

But  to  submit  endevver ; 
For  s'posen  she  hadent  a  died  so  soon. 

She  couldent  a  lived  forever. 

O,  I  could  to  your  bedside  fly, 

And  wipe  yer  weepin'  eyes, 
And  try  my  best  to  cure  you  up, 

If  't  wouldent  create  surprise. 

It 's  a  world  o'  trial  we  tarry  in  - 

But  elder,  don't  dispair ; 
That  you  may  soon  be  movin'  agin, 

Is  constantly  my  prayer. 

Both  sick  and  well,  yon.  may  depend 

Youle  never  be  forgot, 
By  your  faithful  and  affectionate  friend, 

PEBOILLA  POOL  BIDOTT. 

P.  S.  My  nefew,  Jefferson  Magwire.  will  hand  yon 
this  epistoL    I  should  be  wonderful  happified  to  re 


138  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

ceve  a  few  lines  from  you  when  you  git  able,  jest  to 
show  whether  or  no  you  think  me  forrard  in  address- 
in'  you  in  this  manner.  P.  P.  B. 

P.  S.  Now  do  be  cerful  o'  yerself,  dear  elder — ex 
cuse  me  for  callin'  you  dear,  it  came  out  afore  I  was 
aware  on  't — don't  fail  to  foller  my  directions,  espe- 
shelly  about  the  boneset ;  it 's  the  sovereinst  cure  in 
nature  for  influenzy — and  be  sure  to  soke  yer  feet  in 
the  hot  water  and  peppers — ther  ain't  nothin'  like  it 
to  fetch  down  infermation — and  bind  up  yer  throte  in 
the  iled  flannel — it  prevents  swellin' — and  I  wouldent 
have  you  forgit  to  use  the  hop-bag,  for  nothin' — jest 
keep  a  pan  o'  hot  vinegar  on  top  o'  yer  stove,  and  dip 
the  bag  in  it  about  once  in  ten  minnits,  all  night — 
it  '11  give  you  such  a  good  night's  rest — hops  is 
eleepyfyin'.  Committin'  you  to  the  care  o'  creation, 
and  hopin'  youle  be  about  agin  in  a  few  days,  I  sine 
myself  yourn,  with  consarn, 

P.  P.  BEDOTT. 

ELDER  SNIFFLES'  REPLY. 

MOST  WORTHY  MRS.  BEDOTT: 

Your  communication  of  yesterday  was  duly  re- 
ceived at  the  hand  of  your  nephew.  At  the  period 
of  its  reception,  I  was  laboring  under  too  great  a 
degree  of  corporeal  prostration  to  dictate  an  immedi 
ate  response.  But  at  present,  feeling  my  physical  con- 


BLDEE  SNIFFLES'  EEPLY.          139 

iition  to  be,  to  some  extent,  ameliorated,  I  hasten  to 
respond.  Accept  my  most  unqualified  acknowledg- 
ments for  the  interest  which  you  apparently  take  in 
my  welfare — and  for  the  articles  which  you  so  kindly 
transmitted  by  your  nephew.  Permit  me,  also,  to 
assure  you  of  my  abundant  gratification  at  the  assur- 
ance that  my  unpretending  discourses  have  been  the 
feeble  instrument  of  exerting  a  salutary  influence  upon 
your  mind.  I  feel,  most  deeply  do  I  feel,  that  I  am 
but  a  poor  unworthy  worm  of  the  dust ;  and  it  serves 
but  to  augment  my  humiliation  to  reflect  that  my 
labors  in  the  field  have  been  so  signally  blessed.  Your 
remedies,  most  excellent  madam,  I  have  applied  in 
accordance  with  your  directions;  and  it  affords  me 
no  inconsiderable  satisfaction  to  be  able  to  say  that  I 
think  I  can  safely  affirm  that  their  effects  upon  my 
system  have  been  salubrious ;  and  I  can  but  indulge 
the  hope  that  they  will  tend  to  my  ultimate  restora- 
tion, I  must  not,  however,  omit  to  mention,  that  I  did 
not  realize,  to  the  full  extent,  the  efficacy  of  the  hop- 
bag  ;  for  after  having  arisen  agreeably  to  your  direc- 
tions, some  five  or  six  times  (it  may  be  seven,  I  will 
not  venture  to  speak  positively  as  to  the  number)  and 
immersed  the  hop-bag  in  the  boiling  vinegar,  I  re- 
gret to  say  that  I  unintentionally  fell  into  a  state  of 
unconsciousness,  from  which  I  unhappily  did  not 
awake  until  morning.  Owing  to  this  unfortunate  oc- 
currence, I  probably  did  not  enjoy  the  refreshing 


140       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEES. 

repose  winch  a  constant  application  of  the  hot  hop- 
bag  would  have  afforded.  However,  notwdthstand 
ing  this  unintentional  neglect,  I  am  happy  to  state 
that  the  virulence  of  my  attack  is  decidedly  abated. 

I  acknowledge  myself  deeply  indebted  for  the  poem 
which  accompanied  your  communication.  It  was 
truly  gratifying  to  my  feelings.  Your  remark  therein 
embodied,  that  "we  tarry  in  a  world  of  trial,"  is  a 
very  just  one — very,  indeed.  This  is  incontrovertibly 
a  life  of  trials — of  disappointments  and  fluctuations, 
sent,  undoubtedly,  for  the  fortification  of  our  faith. 
It  will  afford  me  most  unmitigated  pleasure  to  con- 
vese  with  you  privately,  in  regard  to  your  mind,  and 
to  give  you  such  instructions  upon  doctrinal  points 
as  may  be  necessary  and  conducive  to  your  spiritual 
edification.  With  that  view,  I  invite  you  to  call  at 
my  residence  on  Friday  evening  next,  when,  if  no 
unforeseen  contingencies  intervene  to  prevent,  and  my 
corporeal  condition  continues  to  improve,  I  shall  be 
unoccupied  and  most  happy  to  attend  to  your  case, 
and  enlighten  you  in  relation  to  such  inquiries  as  you 
may  be  pleased  to  propound. 

With  sentiments  of  unmitigated  regard, 

I  remain  your  obliged  friend, 

O.  SHADBACK  SNIFFLES. 


XIY. 

Sffitato    e$0rts  t0  ftte  SnitKlw  for 


you  gwine,  sister  Bedott?" 
"  Well,  I  thought  I  'd  go  to  Parson  Turtle's 
Friday  evenin'  lector." 

"  Why  ther  ain't  none.  Don't  you  remember  Mr. 
Tattle  said  last  Sunday  that  he  'd  got  to  be  away  to- 
day, and  the  lectur  'd  be  omitted  ?" 

"0,  sure  enough  —  so  he  did.  -  Bui  come  to  think 
•—don't  you  remember  he  said  the  brethsrn  and  sisters 
might  meet  and  have  a  season  o'  prayer?" 

"  0,  yes—  he  did  says  so.  But  lawful  sakes  !  I  don't 
think  it  "s  very  edify  in5  to  go  set  a  hull  evenin'  and 
hear  Deacon  Fustick  and  Deacon  Peabody  and  old 
Parker  hold  forth." 

"  Nor  I  nother.  But  then  I  think  it  's  my  duty  to 
go  once  in  a  while.  Ye  know  Scripter  says  we  mua  ri't 
forsake  the  assemblin'  of  ourselves  together.  1  guess 
I  11  go  tew  night." 

(She  departs  and  proceeds  to  Elder  Sniffles  resi- 
dence.) 


142  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

"Good  evenin',  Elder  Sniffles.  You  see  I  m  punc- 
table  to  the  time.  I  always  make  it  a  pint  to  be.  I 
think  punctability  's  very  important." 

"  A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott — it  is  so — and  1 
am  most  happy  to  receive  you  this  evening." 

"  Well,  how  's  your  health  now  ?  Convalessin',  I 
hope?" 

"  It  affords  me  the  most  unmitigated  satisfaction  to 
be  able  to  state  that  my  corporeal  system  has,  in  a 
great  measure,  recovered  its  usual  tone/' 

(With  much  fervor.)  "  O  how  thankful  I  be  to  hear 
you  say  so,  Elder  Sniffles.  You  can't  have  the  re 
motest  idee  o'  my  anxiety  on  your  account,  and  how 
delighted  I  feel  to  find  you  so  much  better,  and  I 
hope  you  Ve  recovered  yer  tone  so 's  to  be  able  to  sing 
agin.  It 's  a  great  blessin'  to  sing  when  a  body  has 
such  a  powerful  voice  as  yourn.  I  Ve  obsarved  it  a 
Sabberdays  in  meetin'.  0  how  oneasy  I've  been 
about  you  when  I  thought  you  might  be  took  away, 
and  me  never  hear  you  preach  no  more.  I  felt  as  if  I 
couldent  submit  to  't  no  how.  'T  was  a  dretful  sub- 
jick  o'  retrospection  to  think  o'  your  dessclueion.  I 
was  wonderful  glad  to  git  your  letter,  and  kno  v  't  you 
dident  think  I  'd  overtopt  the  bounds  of  propriety  in 
writin'  to  you.  I  was  so  afeared  you  would.  But  I 
felt  so  consarned  for  fear  you  wouldenc  be  comfortable 
and  have  such  jare  as  you  'd  ought  tew—  livin'  all 
alone  so-— nobody  in  the  house  but  a  little  chore-gal— 


BESOBTS  TO  ELDEB  SNIFFLES.    143 

and  what  does  she  know  about  taking  care  of  a  sick 
man?" 

"0,  Sally  does  very.  well.  As  a  general  thing  she 
discharges  the  duties  devolving  upon  her  with  fidelity 
and—" 

"As  fur  as  you  know,  undoubtedly — but  't ain't 
likely  you  know  jest  how  things  goes  on.  I  never 
know'd  a  gal  o'  her  age  but  what  wanted  watchin' 
every  minnit.  You  can't  trust  'em  they  're  such 
highty-tighty  critters.  And  then  the  best  on  'em 
wants  a  head  to  oversee  'em  all  the  time — the  very 
best  on  'em  can't  dew  for  you  as  a  pardr.er  ^ould. 
0,  when  an  indiwiddiwal  's  sick  then 's  tht  tLne.  they 
feel  the  want  of  a  companion,  and  ministers  it  so  apt 
lo  git  sick,  ye  know." 

"A  very  just  remark,  ma'am — very  indeed.  Our 
profession  is  arduous.  I  myself  am  the  subject  of 
frequent  valetudinary  attacks — the  effects,  undoubted- 
ly, of  intense  application." 

"  Jest  so.  I  remember  Parson  Potter,  our  minister 
in  Wiggletown,  used  to  Lave  a  great  many  f  Dr  turns, 
dispepshy-like — his  vittals  distresst  him." 

'  He  was  a  Presbyterian  clergyman,  I  supDOse." 

4  \  es .  He  labored  in  Wiggletown  ten  years.  My 
husband  was  deacon  all  the  time  he  was  there.  Died 
about  a  year  after  Parson  Potter  left  there  Husband 
used  to  have  such  attacks  as  yourn,  tew.  He  enjoyed 
miserable  health  for  a  number  o'  year  afore  he  died 


144  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PA.PEBS. 

He  was  a  feeble  constitutioned  man.  I  s'pose  he 
wouldent  a  lived  no  wher  nigh  as  long  as  he  did  if  I 
hadent  a  ben  undefateegable  in  takin'  care  of  him. 
0,  how  I  did  watch  that  man!  For  six  or  seven 
fears  afore  his  dessolution  I  gi'n  up  my  hull  time  tew 
Mm.  The  neighbors  used  to  say,  '  Miss  Bedott,  you  '11 
sartinly  wear  yerself  out  takin'  care  o'  the  deacon.' 
1  Woll,'  says  I,  '  it  '11  be  in  a  good  cause  if  I  dew.  I 
consider  it  a  duty  and  a  privilege  to  devote  myself  to 
my  husband.  I  don't  want  no  better  occerpation.' 
Ajid  'twas  a  wonderful  comfort  tew  me  after  his 
dizeaac,  to  think  I  had  been  so  devoted.  0  elder, 
mine  war  a  dretful  loss !  I  've  always  felt  as  if 
t  •would  be  very  difficult  to  make  it  up  to  me.  My 
friends  has  wondered  at  me  for  continiwin  single 
so  long,  "but,  as  I  obsarved  in  my  letter,  I  always 
told  'em  't  was  a  very  resky  bisness  to  take  a  second 
paidner,  very  resky,  indeed.  Don't  you  think  so, 
elder?" 

•'I  do,  indeed;  the  selection  of  a  consort,  either 
first  or  second,  is  a  matter  of  immense  importance, 
and  involves  consequences  of  tremendous  magnitude. 
IE  my  opinion,  it — " 

k'I  says  to  'em,  says  I,  when  they  was  a  teazin'  ma 
to  git  married  agin,  I  says  to  'em,  says  I,  don't  speak 
on  ':,  don't — I've  had  one  o'  best  o'  men  for  a  pard- 
r.er,  an  I  I  lived  in  the  greatest  conjugial  felicitude 
with  aim ;  and  that 's  the  reason  why  I  'm  so  pertick 


RESORTS  TO  ELDER  SNIFFLES    146 

ler  now — piety's  every  thing — don't  you  think  so, 
Elder  Sniffles?" 

"  A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott — piety  is  every 
thing,  truly.  Your  late  consort  was,  undoubtedly,  a 
pious  individual;  though,  as  you  begin  to  perceive, 
being  a  Presbyterian,  he  must  necessarily  have  held 
some  views  which  undoubtedly  were — were — " 

"Yes — husband  was  ruther  sot  in  his  way,  and 
that 's  the  reason  why  I  never  got  inlightened  on  some 
pints — husband  always  thought  every  thing  Parson 
Potter  said  was  jest  right ;  and  Parson  Potter  was  a 
wonderful  prejudiced  man.  He  writ  a  couple  o'  sar- 
mons  aginst  the  Baptists,  and  had  'em  printed ;  and 
husband  used  to  read  'em  over  and  over  again.  Yes 
— 't  ain't  to  be  denied  that  husband  was  mistaken  on 
some  doctrinal  pints — my  mind  has  been  wonderfully 
exercised  about  it  lately." 

"  I  should  judge  so  from  your  letter;  and  I  trust — " 

"Ever  sence  the  first  time  I  heerd  you  preach,  I've 
felt  oneasy ;  I  says  to  my  nephew  Jefferson  Magwire 
—(ye  know  he  went  with  me  to  the  meetin') — Jeff, 
says  I,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  hear  Elder  Sniffles  converse. 
You  see,  Jeff  had  been  a  tellin'  me  afore  we  went 
what  an  interestin'  preacher  you  was ;  but  I  'd  no  idee 
I  should  be  so  much  affected — mabby  you  obsarved 
I  was  quite  overcome  at  one  part  o'  the  discourse; 
't  was  when  you  dwelt  upon  the  changeable  natur  of 
arthly  happiness — the  onsartinty  of  every  thing — it 


i'i6  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

touched  a  tender  pint,  I  thought  how  it  applied  to 
my  case — my  circumstances  is  so  changed — alone  in 
the  world — without  a  sympathizin'  buzzom  to  lean  on 
— nobody  to  take  any  pertickler  intrest  in  me."  [She 
covers  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  and  appears 
much  agitated.] 

"But,  Mrs.  Bedott,  in  this  mundane  sphere,  we 
should  endeavor  to  be  prepared  for  the  innumerable 
fluctuations  which — " 

"  I  'm  aware  on  't,  Elder  Sniffles — I  'm  intirely 
aware  o'  the  truth  o'  what  you  obsarve ;  but  then  you 
know  an  indiwiddiwal  in  my  sittiwation  has  so  many 
onpleasat  things  to  incounter ;  if  they  're  ever  so  ker- 
ful,  folks  will  talk  and  say  they  're  a  gwine  to  change 
ther  condition — and  be  all  the  time  a  pickin'  out  this 
one  and  that  one  for  'em — when  they  hain't  no  more 
idee  o'  changin'  ther  condition  than  they  have  o'  flyin'. 
And  then  ther 's  another  dretful  trial  we  have  to  un- 
dergo ;  dew  what  we  will,  we  can't  git  red  o'  the  im- 
partinent  attentions  o'  the  men  folks.  If  we  're  ever 
BO  stiff  and  haughty  tew  'em,  they  won't  seem  to  mind 
it  a  speck ;  they  will  keep  a  makin'  up  tew  us — rand 
you  've  no  idee  how  dizagreeable  't  is — 't  was  the  prin- 
cipal cause  o'  my  leavin'  Wiggletown.  As  long  as 
my  son  and  darter  was  with  me,  I  felt  as  if  't  was  my 
duty  to  stay  there^—but  when  they  got  married  and 
left  me,  it  seemed  as  if  I  couldent  stan'  it  no  longer — 
not  that  I  Ve  got  any  thing  to  say  against  the  indi 


RESORTS  TO  ELDER  SKIFFLES.   147 

widiwals  that  was  pleased  with  me — 't  waVt  their  fault 
that  I  wa'n't  suited  with  ary  one  on  'em ;  but  't  was 
very  onpleasant  to  be  the  objick  o'  their  preference, 
when  I  couldent  recipperate  none  o'  ther  feelins — and 
was  detarmined  never  to  unite  my  destination  to  a  per- 
son that  was  destitue  o'  religion.  'T  was  a  tryin'  siti- 
wation  to  be  placad  in :  but  dear  me !  it 's  awful  tryin1 
to  be  without  a  companion,  as  I  remarked  in  some 
Btanzys  I  was  a  writin'  't  other  day. 

What  sittiwation  can  be  wuss 

Than  not  to  have  nobody  to  care  for  us  I 

Riches  and  honors  that  most  folks  prize, 

Ain't  of  no  vally  hi  my  eyes 

In  comparison  with  a  congenial  heart, 

In  all  our  consams  to  take  a  part ; 

To  recipperate  all  oar  buzzom's  emotions, 

And  to  take  the  lead  in  our  daily  devotions. 

"  Ain't  them  your  sentiments,  elder?" 
"  They  are  so,  Mrs.  Bedott ;  the  society  of  a  conge- 
nial spirit  is  truly  desirable.  In  particular,  I  consider 
congeniality  of  sentiments  to  be  indispensable  as  re- 
gards-religious opinions ;  and  as  you  have  expressed  a 
desire  to  receive  some  instructions  relating  to  doctrinal 
points — " 

"  Yes,  I  have  felt  very  much  exercised  lately.  I  Ve 
felt  to  deplore  my  lukewarmuess  and  want  o'  zeal, 
but  especially  I  Ve  felt  to  mourn  over  my  former  prej- 
udices against  your  seek :  but  you  see  I  Ve  always  ben 
placed  under  onfortinate  circumstences — circumstences 
that 's  had  an  attendency  to  exart  an  onfavorable  in 


148      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

fluence  on  my  religious  faith ;  and  it  actiJly  seems  as 
if  the  hand  o'  Providence  was  in  my  comin'  here  to 
Scrabble  Hill,  instid  o'  concludin'  to  go  to  Varmount 
to  my  brother,  Christopher  Columbus  Poole's.  They 
wanted  I  should  come  there,  but  somehow  another  I 
felt  a  loud  call  to  come  here.  I  speak  on 't  in  another 
stanzy  o'  the  same  poem  I  illuded  tew  jest  now.  I 
says,  says  I — 

Yes,  sartin  there  was  a  providence  iu  it, 
And  I  shall  always  bless  the  minnit 
That  fixed  my  choice  on  Scrabble  Hill, 
Instid  o'  the  town  o'  Buttonville — 

S'posen  I  'd  a  went  to  Buttonville,  and  stayed  all  win- 
ter, instid  o'  comin'  here — how  different  my  circum- 
stences  would  a  ben.  O,  Elder  Sniffles,  what  a  privi- 
lege 't  is  to  set  Sabberday  after  Sabberday  under  your 
preachin',  and  to  be  permitted  to  come  to  yer  house 
and  injoy  the  benefit  o'  hearin'  you  convarse  on  relig- 
ious subjicks.  I  dew  feel  as  if  I  couldent  be  thankful 
enough.  The  day  you  was  t'  our  house  to  dinner,  I 
was  wonderfully  interested  in  yer  conversation.  I 
e'pose  you  obsarved  I  was  ruther  tackciturn  most  o' 
the  time — 't  was  cause  I  felt  under  considerable  con- 
straint. Sister  Magwire  and  her  husband  is  very  well 
meanin'  folks,  but  they  're  dretful  narrer  minded  and 
sot  in  ther  way.  I  don't  never  feel  free  to  express  my 
mind  afore  'em  as  I  'd  like  tew — you  know  a  body 
can't  when  they  're  so  sittiwated — " 


RESORTS    TO    ELDER    SNIFFLES.        149 

,  "Exactly — a  very  just  remark— in  order  to  enjoy 
the  entire  benefit  of  intellectual  or  religious  discourse, 
an  individual  must  be  wholly  unrestrained.  The  pre- 
sent occasion,  therefore,  is  one  suited  to — " 

"Yes,  felt  so  gratified  when  I  got  your  letter  and  in- 
vitation to  come  round  here  to-night.  0,  thinks  me, 
what  a  blessid  privilege  't  is — I  dew  hope  I  'preciate 
it — but  0,  elder,  elder,  what  if  it  should  git  out  that  I 
come  here  .alone,  and  in  the  evenin' !  What  would 
some  folks  say  ?  You  know  ther  's  so  many  that 's 
ready  to  ketch  up  every  little  thing,  and  make  the 
most  on 't.  Gracious  sakes  alive  !  what  should  I  dew 
if  the  story  should  get  round  that  I  was  settin'  my  cap 
for  you !  and  I  know  't  would  if  Sally  Hugle  should 
find  out  I  come  here  to-night — they  say  she  's  a  dret- 
ful  meddlin'  critter,  and  I  'm  sure  she  don't  feel  none 
o'  the  frenliest  to  me  ;  I  s'pose  it 's  cause  I  hain't  shew- 
ed no  great  anxiety  to  cultivate  her  society.  The  fact 
is  the  minnit  I  first  set  my  eyes  on  her,  I  made  up  my 
mind  she  wa'n't  a  person  I  cared  about  havin'  for  an 
intimit :  her  countenance  is  so  dizagreeable.  I  should 
know  she  had  an  onpleasant  disposition;  thinks  me 
she 's  got  grit  and  no  mistake.  Brother  Magwire  says 
he  should  pity  any  man  that  would  be  draw'd  in  by 
her,  cause  she 's  so  lazy.  They  say  when  she  ain't  a 
spinnin'  street  yarn,  she  don't  dew  nothin'  but  write 
poitry ;  her  mother  and  sister  Polly  has  the  hull  heft 
fl1  the  housekeepin1  on  their  shoulders.  Now  I  say 


150       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

ther  ain't  no  need  o'  neglectin'  yer  duties  to  write  poi- 
try :  for  I  Ve  writ  a  sight  on 't  in  my  day — enough,  I 
should  say,  to  fill  a  bushel  basket — and  nobody  can't 
say  't  I  ever  allowed  it  to  interfere  with  my  domestic 
consarns.  A  body  can  write  poitry  and  be  industrous 
tew.  And  massy  on  me !  such  poitry  as  hern !  did 
you  ever ! — but 't  ain't  for  me  to  crittycise  other  folkses 
writin's,  nor  I  don't  want  to  say  nothin'  deroggery  to 
Sally  Hugle — only  I  deiv  hope  she  never  '11  find  out 
about  my  comin'  here.  0,  Elder  Sniffles,  I  'm  a  lone 
woman ;  ther  ain't  nobody  to  stan'  up  for  my  rights, 
if  the  voice  o'  slander  should  be  raised  aginst  me." 
[She  weeps.] 

"  Be  calm,  Mrs.  Bedott — [he  approaches  and  sita 
down  beside  her] — permit  me  to  assure  you  that  your 
apprehensions  are  utterly  groundless.  You  are  quite 
too  sensitive — quite.  It  is  no  unusual  circumstance  for 
individuals  of  your  sex  to  resort  to  me  for  religious 
instruction  and  private  conversation  in  regard  to  the 
Btate  of  their  minds." 

"  Does  Sally  Hugle  ever  come  for  private  conversa- 
tion?" 

"I  believe — indeed  it  strikes  me  that  Miss  Hugle 
has  done  so  once  or  twice." 

"  0,  Elder  Sniffles,  beware  of  that  critter.  Depend 
nn  't 't  ain't  for  the  sake  o'  gittin  instruction  she  comes. 
It 's  jist  for  to  insiniwate  herself  into  your  favor — and 
judgin'  from  what  I  Ve  seen  and  heerd  of  her,  I 


BESOETS  TO  ELDER  SNIFFLES.    151 

shouldent  wish  my  worst  innemy  a  greater  cuss 
than  to  git  her  for  a  pardner.  Old  maids  always 
makes  miserable  wives — and  of  all  things,  to  think  o' 
such  a  person  as  Sally  Hugie  bein'  united  to  a  man 
like  Elder  Sniffles !  A  man  that  ought  to  have  the 
very  salt  of  the  arth  for  a  companion.  O,  its  awful  I 
'T  would  put  an  eend  to  your  usefulness,  depend  on  V 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  dear  madam.  Your  fears 
are  unfounded.  The  interest  which  you  take  in  my 
welfare  touches  me  deeply.  If  the  period  should  ever 
arrive  when  I  shall  deem  it  essential  to  select  a  second 
consort,  believe  me,  I  shall — " 

"O,  Elder  Sniffles!" 

"  I  shall  proceed  with  the  utmost  caution  and  pru- 
dence." 

[A  hurried  knock  is  heard  at  the  door.] 

"  There !  some  body  's  a  comin'.     I  must  go." 

"  "Well,  allow  me  to  entreat  you  to  lay  aside  all  ap- 
prehensions, and  resort  to  me  whenever  you  wish  to 
unburden  your  mind,  or  receive  religious  instruction." 

"  I  'm  very  much  obleeged  to  ye,  Elder  Sniffles,  very 
much,  indeed.  I  feel  as  if  ycur  conversation  this 
Bvenin'  had  done  me  a  great  deal  o'  good." 


XV. 

10 


"  O  EE  here.  Aunt  Bedott,  here's  another  poem  by 

^     Hugelina." 

"Is,  hey?  What's  she  groanin'  about  now?  be- 
witched to  die  yet  ?" 

"  No  —  it  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  lament  occasioned 
by  Elder  Sniffle's  sickness." 

"  You  don't  !  now  what  a  bare-faced  critter  she  is 
to  come  right  out  so  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  all  creation 
—  ain't  it  astonishin'?  She's  purty  late  in  the  day 
tew  with  her  lamentin'  —  the  elder's  got  about  agin  — 
preached  last  Sabberday." 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  know  he  was  laid  up  Sunday  before 
last  —  and  I  suppose  they  dident  get  the  poetry  in  time 
to  bring  it  out  last  week." 

"  Well  dew  read  it,  for  pity's  sake  —  I  want  to  hear 
«vhat  the  critter  says." 

SONNET. 

O,  lyre  of  mine,  divulge  thy  saddest  strain 
In  melancholy  thunder-tones  of  woe  I 

In  gloomiest  accents  deep  of  quivering  pain, 
Thy  moiirnful  nnmhers  on  the  midmight  throw} 
A  direful  theme  demands  thy  anguished  flow  ; 


CONCLUDE-S    TO    PUBLISH.  153 

For  sighing  on  his  lonely  oonch  of  griefj 
Truth's  champion  languisheth  without  relief! 

Yon  vacant,  voiceless  desk  proclaims  aloud 
The  ahsence  of  his  eloquential  tongue, 

Which  held  in  wondering  chains  the  admiring  crowd 
And  carried  conviction  both  to  old  and  young. 

The  arduous  duties  of  his  sacred  falling 

Have  caused  this  casuallity  appalling, 
"While  in  dark  weeds  of  crape  my  wailing  lyre  is  hung  ! 


"  Well  now,  if  that  don't  beat  all  !  did  you  ever  seo 
any  thing  so  redickilous  in  all  your  born  days  ?  you 
may  talk  as  much  as  you  're  a  mind  tew  about  '  hidden 
meanin'.'  I  believe  if  there  's  any  meanin'  at  all  in  a 
thing  it  '11  show  out  some  wher  —  and  for  my  part,  I 
can't  see  a  speck  nor  grain  o'  sense  in  that  are  piece. 
What  on  arth  does  the  simpleton  mean  by  blazin 
away  so  about  her  '  liar'  and  its  '  thunder  tones'  and 
1  mournin'  weeds,'  and  all  that?  I  should  think  Elder 
Sniffles  would  feel  insulted  by  such  a  mess  o'  stuff— 
shouldent  you  ?" 

"  O,  no,  I  dare  say  he  '11  consider  it  quite  compli- 
mentary ;  don't  you  see  she  talks  about  his  eloquence 
—  drawing  admiring  crowds,  and  so  forth  ?  I  guess 
she  means  to  catch  the  elder  if  she  can  ;  any  how  she 
seems  to  be  making  a  dead  set  at  him,  and  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  she  should  succeed." 

"  Well,  if  Sal  Hugle  ketches  Elder  Sniffles  with 
such  trash  as  that,  I  '11  give  it  up  that  's  all  ;  but  I 
don't  bleve  she  will  •  he  ain't  so  big  a  fool  as  to  have 
the  wool  drawd  over  his  eyes  in  that  way." 
7* 


IM      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  But  you  know  she  may  possess  other  attractions 
besides  her  poetical  talents." 

''  Other  attractions !  goody  grievous !  I  wonder  what 
they  be  1  Of  all  created  critters  she  's  the  dizagree- 
ablest  I  sver  see,  and  so  awfully  humbly  I  shouldent 
think  she  oculd  feel  comfortable.  I  guess  she  s  one 
o'  theLD  that  s  tew  humbly  to  relish  ther  vittals.  But 
for  all  that)  I  blev3  she  thinks  she  's  quite  handsome. 
What  a  way  she's  got  o'  fixin'  her  hair — them  great 
long  stringlefcs  a  dang]  in'  down  her  cheeks — her  phiz- 
mahogany's  narrer  enough  without  'ern,  I  'm  sure.  I 
met  her  yisterday  as  I  was  gwine  to  the  store,  and 
'twas  as  mujh  as  I  could  dew  to  keep  from  bnstin' 
right  out  a  laughin'  in  her  face.  She  had  on  that 
are  everlastin'  red  hood  that  shows  the  hull  o'  her 
face,  and  her  curls  was  a  streamin'  down  over  the 
corners  of  her  mouth,  so  't  a  body  'd  a  ben  pestered 
to  tell  how  far  round  it  went ;  and  she  was  a  salin' 
along  like  t.  goose  in  a  mud  puddle,  with  her  great 
eyes  a  siarin'  straight  at  nothin'.  She  's  got  a  way  o' 
lookin'  as  if  she  was  gazin'  into  futewrity." 

"That's  a  mark  of  genius,  you  know — a  sign 
tiat  she  lives  in  the  shadowy  regions  of  imagina- 
tion— " 

"Shaddery  fiddle-stick?" 

'•'  She  was  probably  composing  a  sonnet  when  you 
met  her." 

"  Shoudent  wonder  if  she  was — she  looked  as  if 


CONCLUDES    TO    PUBLISH.  156 

she  was  occupied  with,  somethin'  despirit.  Well,  if  I 
couldent  make  out  better  'n  she  does,  I  'd  hang  up  my 
fiddle— that 's  all !" 

"Well,  aunty,  why  don't  you  write  some  poetry 
for  the  '  Luminary  ?'  come,  suppose  you  try  your 
hand  at  it — you  're  great  on  poetry." 

"0,  I  don't  feel  willin'  to  make  myself  so  con- 
spiciwus." 

"  O  fudge !  that 's  nonsense — every  one  ought  to  be 
willing  to  exercise  their  gift,  you  know." 

"  Well,  it  does  look  reasonable,  but  your  mar  always 
discourages  me  about  writin'  poitry." 

"What  of  that?  father  and  I  don't,  and  I'm  sure 
we  re  quite  as  competent  judges  as  mother  is.  Come 
now,  if  you  '11  write  a  piece  of  poetry  I  '11  take  it  to 
the  *  Luminary'  to-morrow  before  I  go  back  to  Coon- 
ville.  I  know  you  can  beat  Hugelina.  Mother 
need  n't  know  any  thing  about  it  till  it  comes  out,  and 
then  she  can't  help  herself." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  I  will,  i  've  got  a 
piece  begun  that  I  think 's  about  as  good  as  any  thin' 
I  Ve  writ  in  some  time.  Mabby  I  '11  finis!  that  off 
and  send  it." 

"  What 's  the  subject  ?" 

"  Well,  it  treats  o'  the  onsartainty  o'  terrestrious 
things.  'T  was  occasioned  by  a  remark  in  the  first 
sarmon  I  ever  heard  Elder  Sniffles  preach.  You  know 


156      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

he  spoke  o'  our  bein'  enable  to  calkilate  with  anj 
degree  o'  sartainty." 

"  0  yes,  I  remember  it  very  well ;  tliat  would  be  a 
first-rate  subject  to  write  upon." 

'"I  begin  by  alludin'  to  the  elder's  sarmon,  and 
then  I  goes  on  to  testify  to  the  truth  on  't  by  showin' 
how  diffikilt  't  is  to  make  any  kind  o'  calkilation 
about  any  thing,  bein'  as  all  things  of  a  transiterry 
natur  is  so  onsartin.  But  I  '11  go  get  it  and  show  it 
tew  ye,  and  then  you  can  see  for  yourself.  Here  't  is." 
(Jeff  reads  it.) 

"  That's  capital,  Aunt  Silly.  Send  it  by  all  meuns. 
I  '11  copy  it  off  in  a  larger  hand,  so  that  it  can  be  read 
more  easily.  And  what  shall  we  call  it  ?  Suppose 
we  entitle  it  "  Can't  Calculate." 

"  Well,  I  should  think  that  would  be  very  appro- 
briate." 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  guess  we '11  just  call  it '  K.  K.' 
—that  stands  for  'can't  calculate,'  you  know — and 
there  '11  be  something  striking  and  original  about  it, 
too." 

"  Jest  so.  Well,  you  may  fix  it  out  as  you  're  a 
mind  to — but  I'll  take  it  and  add  on  a  few  more 
Btanzys  first." 

"  0  no,  you  need  n't,  it 's  plenty  long  enough — they 
don't  like  to  print  long  articles." 

"  Don't,  hey  ?  Well,  it  seems  as  if 't  wa'n't  hardly  long 
enough  to  pay  a  body  for  the  trouble  o'  readin'  on 't " 


CONCLUDES    TO    PUBLISH,  157 

"  Yes  it  is.  It  is  n't  so  much  the  length  of  a  poem 
as  the  excellence  of  it  that  folks  look  at,  you  know." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  but  you  're  right,  though  I 
remember  how  't  Zebidee  Higgins  used  to  write  very 
long  pieces.  He  writ  a  good  deal  for  the  '  "Wiggle- 
town  Banner,'  and  when  Minarvy  Pike  died  he  writ 
a  piece  on  her  death,  and  had  it  printed  alone  by  itself 
on  a  big  sheet  o'  paper,  and  sold  'em  for  a  shillin' 
apiece.  Ther  was  risin'  a  hundred  varses  on't.  I 
remember  when  he  was  a  carryin'  'em  around  to  sell, 
he  come  t'  cur  house,  and  husband  bought  one. 
When  he  see  how  long  't  was,  he  says,'  says  he  to  Zeb, 
'Why,  Zebidee,  what  was  yer  object  in  havin'  on't 
so  long  ?'  Says  Zeb,  says  he,  '  Don't  ye  s'pose  I 
wanted  folks  should  git  the  worth  o'  their  money  ?' 
But  as  I  don't  charge  nothin'  for  this  ere,  't  ain't  so 
much  matter  about  its  length,  I  s'pose.  There,  yer 

mar  's  a  comin',  stick  it  away  for  pity's  sake." 
******* 

[Messrs.  Gamble  and  Spratt,  editors  of  the  "  Scrab- 
ble Hill  Luminary,"  discuss  the  merits  of  the  widow's 
poem.] 

"See  here,  Gamble.  What  d'ye  think!  that 
hatchet  faced  old  svoman  down  at  Maguire's  has  sent 
us  a  piece  o'  poetry." 

"  The  dogs  she  has !  Well,  I  swow  I  am  beat  now. 
She  looks  as  little  like  the  votary  of  the  muses  as  any 
body  I  ever  saw.  What  for  poetry  is  it  ?" 


1  168       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  I  '11  be  bound  if  I  know  what  to  make  of  it,  and 
so  I  told  Jeff  Maguire,  who  handed  it  in  just  now. 
Jeff  says  she  's  quite  an  eccentric  character,  and  I 
should  think  so  by  this.  I  don't  know  what 's  best  to 
do  ibout  it."  [Gamble  reads  it.] 

"Jupiter !  that 's  rich,  ain't  it?" 

"Don't  exactly  like  to  reject  it — don't  want  to  make 
her  mad — th^y  say  she  's  rich  as  mud — liviu'  on  the 
interest  of  her  money.  What  shall  we  do  with  the 
thundering  stuff?" 

"  Why,  print  it,  to  be  sure.  I  '11  write  a  puff  for  it. 
I  'm  great  on  editorials,  you  know." 

"Are  you  in  earnest,  Gamble?" 

"  Certainly  I  am.  I  think  thsre  's  more  sense  in  it 
than  there  is  in  Miss  Hugle's  poetry,  and  you  never 
hesitate  at  all  about  accepting  any  thing  from  her." 

"  But  hers  sounds  big,  you  know,  and  half  the  folks 
in  the  world  thinks  that 's  poetry  whether  ther  's  any 
sense  in  it  or  not." 

"  I  know  it,  but  '  Hugelina'  is  the  only  poetical  con- 
tributor we  have,  and  she  's  almost  worn  out.  I  Ve 
puffed  her  and  puffed  her  till  I  am  almost  tired  of  th3 
business.  I  should  like  a  change.  There  's  something 
decidedly  new  about  this.  You  leave  it  to  me,  I  '11 
manage  it.  I  confess  you  're  greater  on  politics,  and 
BO  forth,  than  I  am,  but  it  takes  me  to  do  up  the  fine 
arts." 

"  Jeff  seemed  to  be  sorry  not  to  find  you  in  wheu 


CONCLUDES    TO    PUBLISH.  159 

he  came.  I  suppose  lie  saw  that  I  hesitated  a  little 
about  taking  it,  and  he  knew  you  would  n't — you  're 
both  of  you  up  to  all  sorts  of  deviltry — but  he  looked 
as  serious  as  a  parson.  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  know 
whether  he  was  in  earnest  about  wishing  us  to  publish 
this  plaguy  stuff  or  not." 

"In.  earnest?  of  course  he  was.  If  he  wasn't>  I 
am.  I  nevei  interfere  with  your  department,  and  you 
ought  not  to  with  mine.  My  voice  is  for  the  old  gal 
— so,  hurra  for  the  '  Editor's  comments.'  " 

"  It  affords  us  the  most  indubitable  pleasure  to  be 
able  to  enrich  our  '  Poet's  Corner'  of  this  week's  Lumi- 
nary with  a  gem  from  the  pen  of  a  new  contributor. 
The  extreme  simplicity  of  the  diction  presents  a  strik- 
ing contrast  to  the  more  highly  wrought  and  elabo- 
rate styie  oi  our  own  gifted  '  Hugelina,'  and  strongly 
reminds  one  of  the  effusions  of  the  early  masters  of 
English  poesy,  when  the  muse  was  in  her  pristine 
purity.  All  worshipers  of  the  truthful — the  pure — • 
the  earnest  and  the  unadorned  in  poetry,  will  rejoice 
with  us  that  a  brighter  day  appears  about  to  dawn 
upon  our  poetical  horizon,  and  that  the  time  is  proba- 
bly not  far  distant  when  nature  shall  assert  her  suprem- 
acy over  art  in  the  dominions  of  the  muse.  We 
hope  to  hear  often  from  our  fair  correspondent." 


160  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 


K.  K.— CAN'T  CALCULATE. 

What  poor  short-sighted  worms  we  be— 

For  we  can't  calculate 
With  any  sort  of  sartintee, 

What  is  to  be  our  fate. 

These  words  Prissilla's  heart  did  reach 
And  caused  her  tears  to  flow, 

When  first  she  heard  the  Elder  preach 
About  six  months  ago. 

How  true  it  is  what  he  did  state, 

And  thus  affected  her, 
That  nobody  can't  calculate 

What  is  a  gwine  to  occur. 

When  we  retire,  can't  calculate 

But  what  afore  the  morn 
Our  housen  will  conflaggerate 

And  we  be  left  forlorn. 

Can't  calculate  when  we  come  in 

From  ary  neighborin'  place, 
Whether  we  '11  ever  go  out  agin 

To  look  on  natur's  face. 

Can't  calculate  upon  the  weather, 

It  always  changes  so  ; 
Hain't  got  no  means  of  telling  whether 

It 's  gwine  to  rain  or  snow. 

Can't  calculate  with  no  precision 

On  naught  beneath  the  sky ; 
And  so  I  've  come  to  the  decision, 

That  Hain't  worth  while  to  try. 

PKISSILLA 


XYI 


0tt  f  fta 


"  C  AY,  sister  Magwire,  can't  you  spend  time  jest  to 
come  here  a  minnit  and  look  at  mj  caps.  I 
want  to  ax  you  which  I  'd  better  wear  to-day.  I  don't 
want  to  wear  it  to  meetin',  cause  my  bunnit  would 
jam  ii  all  down  —  but  I  want  to  make  up  my  mind 
aforehand  about  it  so  's  not  to  lose  no  time  when  I 
git  hum.  Come  quick,  dew  —  the  bell  '11  ring  in  a 
minnit.  O,  here  ye  be  ;  well,  now  tell,  which  o'  these 
caps  is  the  becominest." 

"  Why,  you  Ve  got  a  regiment  on  'em  seems  to  me." 

"  Yes  ;  I  'm  well  on  't  for  caps  —  but  the  half  on  'em 
was  giv'  tew  me.  Here  's  one,  though,  't  I  made  my- 
self. I  wore  it  to  Kier's  weddin'.  How  does  it 
look  ?"  (She  puts  it  on.) 

"  Somehow,  I  don't  like  that  much  —  it  sticks  up  tew 
high  on  top:  and  then  them  yaller  bows  looks  so 
kind  o'  darw?  t  and  then  them  red  artifishels  is  ruther 
extensive.  I  reckon  you  look  better  without  artifishels." 

"  Well,  lemme  try  on  this  ere  ;  Melissy  gin  it  tevf 
me.  I  always  thought  't  was  quite  becomin'." 


162  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

"  Well,  I  don't  agree  with  ye,  Silly  I  think  there 's 
tew  much  ribbin  on 't — pink  ribbin  tew ;  don't  you 
think  pink  ribbin  's  a'most  tew  young  for  you  ?" 

"  O,  dretful  suz,  Melissy  I  what  foolish  idees  yen  Ve 
got ! — you  're  always  a  takin'  me  to  dew  about  dressin' 
tew  young.  What 's  the  use  o'  makin'  an  old  woman 
o'  myself  afore  I  be  one?  But  come  to  think,  this 
would  be  ruther  dressy  for  to-day,  seein'  the  minister 's 
a  comin'.  See  'f  ye  like  this  ere  any  better — 't  was  a 
present  from  Sam  Pendergrasses  wife,  not  long  afore 
I  come  away.  I  never  wore  it  but  once." 

"  Well  I  reckon  that  looks  woss  than  the  pink  one 
-  -blue  makes  you  look  kind  o'  sguawy  ;  you  're  rather 
dark  complected ;  and  blue 's  a  tryin  color  for  dark 
Bkins." 

"Well,  I  never  thought  I  was  so  wonderful  dark 
complected,  I  'm  sure.  I  wonder  if  this  one  '11  suit 
ye  any  better.  Kier's  wife  gin  it  tew  me.  I  hain't 
never  wore  it  at  all ;  thought  I  shouldent,  'cause  it 's 
BO  tumble  old-womanish  and  quakery.  I  fetcht  it 
along,  cause  I  thought  mabby  Seliny  'd  be  mad  if  I 
dident — but  I  don't  see  what  on  arth  she  meant  by 
givin'  me  such  a  lookin'  thing." 

"Now,  Silly,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  talk  so— for 
my  part,  I  like  that  better  'n  ary  one  you  Ve  tried  on 
That  are  white  satin  trimmin'  looks  so  kind  o'  neat 
and  plain.  It 's  a  purty  shape  tew — comes  down  fur- 
der  'n  tho  others  onto  yer  face — and  that  ?s  an  im- 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  163 

.  provement,  pern'  as  you  're  ruther  long- favored.  I  'd 
wear  that  by  all  means,  Silly." 

"  You  would ! — well  now  I  am  beat — why  ther  ain't 
a  color  about  it  but  white." 

"  All  the  better  for  that ;  it 's  enough  ginteeler  'n 
them  flambergasted  blue  and  yaller  things  >  and  then 
the  elder 's  a  comin',  ye  know." 

"Jest  so ;  well  I  guess  I  will  wear  it  considerin' — '' 

"And  yer  black  silk  gownd  and  muslin  under- 
handkercher — you  look  best  in  them  of  any  thing 
you  Ve  got." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  I  will — murder! 
there  's  the  bell,  and  I  hain't  begun  to  be  ready ;  never 
mind,  I  won't  dress  till  I  git  hum ;  this  ere  allipacker 
looks  well  enough  to  wear  to  meetin'.  I  '11  jest  throw 
on  my  mankiller  and  bunnit — 't  won't  take  me  long ; 
wish  you  could  go  Melissy — but  I  know  ye  can't  and 
git  dinner  tew ;  the  elder  's  a  gwine  to  preach  in  your 
meetin'-house,  hey? — well,  that  looks  brotherly  ;  Bap- 
tists preach  in  your  meetin'-house  one  year — and  your 
minister  preach  in  theirn  the  next — I  like  the  idee, 
Is  my  bunnit  on  strait?  This  glass  makes  me  look 
kind  o'  skew-jawed — never  know  whether  my  things 
La  in  decent  order  and  reglar  rotation  or  not,  when  I 
git  'em  on.  How  does  this  ere  scarf  go  ?  Where  1s 
brother  Magwire  and  Jeff,  I  wonder  ?  How  thought- 
ful 't  was  in  Jeff  to  ax  the  elder  here  to  dinner-  —he  'd 
E,  ben  so  lonesome  to  hum  all  alone.  Melissv,  I  begin 


164      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

to  have  considerable  hopes  o'  Jeff — shouldei-t  wonde/ 
if  he  should  turn  out  quite  a  stiddy  man  after  all. 
Here  they  come.'' 

****** 

"  Elder  Sniffles,  let  me  give  you  another  piece  o'  the 
turkey." 

"I'm  obleeged  to  you,  Mr.  Maguire;  you  probably 
recollect  that  I  remarked  in  my  discourse  this  morn- 
ing, that  individuals  were  too  prone  to  indulge  in  an 
excessive  indulgence  in  creature  comforts  on  thanks- 
giving occasions.  In  view  of  the  lamentable  fact  that 
the  sin  of  gormandizing  is  carried  to  a  sinful  excess 
on  this  day,  I,  as  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel,  deem  it  my 
duty  to  be  unusually  abstemious  on  such  occasions : 
nevertheless,  considering  the  peculiar  circumstances 
under  which  I  am  placed  this  day,  I  think  I  will 
waive  objections  and  take  another  small  portion  of  the 
turkey." 

"That's  right  elder — what  part  will  you  take 
now  ?" 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  particular ;  a  small  quantity  of  the 
breast,  with  a  part  of  a  leg  and  some  of  the  stuffing, 
will  be  quite  sufficient." 

"  Pass  the  cramberries  to  Elder  Sniffles,  Jeff— elder 
help  yourself;  wife  give  the  elder  some  more  o'  the 
turnip  sass  and  potater." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Maguire.  I  am  an  advocate  foi 
a  vegetable  diet  —and  have  always  maintained  that  it 


THANKSGIVING    DAY  165 

is  more  congenial  to  individuals  of  sedentary  habits 
and  intellectual  pursuits  like  myself,  than  animal 
food." 

"  Jeff,  my  son,  pass  the  bread.  Sister  Bedott  send 
your  plate  for  some  more  o'  the  turkey." 

"  No,  I  'm  obleeged  to  ye — I  've  had  sufficient." 

"  Jeff,  cut  the  chicken  pie." 

"  Sure  enough — I  almost  forgot  that  I  was  to  carve 
the  pie — Aunt  Silly  you  '11  take  a  piece  of  it,  won't 
you?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  dew  take  a  leetle  mite  on  't. 
I'm  a  great  favoryte  o', chicken  pie — always  thought 
't  was  a  delightful  beverage — don't  you  Elder  Snif- 
fles?" 

"  A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott — very  indeed  ; 
chicken  pie  is  truly  a  very  desirable  article  of  food." 

"  Allow  me  to  help  you  to  some  of  it,  elder." 

"  Thank  you,  my  young  friend ;  as  I  before  remark- 
ed, I  am  entirely  opposed  to  an  immoderate  indulgence 
of  the  appetite  at  all  times,  but  particularly  on  thanks- 
giving occasions — and  am  myself  always  somewhat 
abstemious.  However,  I  consider  it  my  duty  at  the 
present  time  to  depart,  to  some  extent,  from  the  usual 
simplicity  of  my  diet.  I  will,  therefore  comply  with 
your  request  and  partake  of  the  chicken  pie." 

"  Take  some  more  o'  the  cramberry  sass,  elder : 
cramberries  is  hulsome." 

"  A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Maguire — they  are  BO  , 


166      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

nevertheless,  I  maintain  that  we  should  not  indulge 
too  freely  in  even  the  most  wholesome  of  creature 
comforts ;  however,  since  you  desire  it,  I  will  take  a 
small  portion  more  of  the  cranberries." 

"  Husband,  dew  pass  that  pickled  tongue — it  hain't 
been  touched — take  some  on  't  Elder  Sniffles." 

"  I  'in  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Maguire — but  I  confess 
I  am  somewhat  fearful  of  taking  articles  of  that  de- 
scription upon  my  stomach,  as  they  create  a  degree  of 
acidity  which  is  incompatible  with  digestion.  Is  it 
not  so  my  young  friend  ?  You  are  undoubtedly  pre- 
pared to  decide,  as  you  are,  I  believe,  pursuing  the 
study  of  the  medical  science." 

"  I  think  you  are  altogether  mistaken,  Elder  Snif- 
fles. We  should  always  take  a  due  proportion  of 
acid  with  our  food,  in  order  to  preserve  the  equilibrium 
of  the  internal  economy,  and  produce  that  degree  of 
effervescence  which  is  necessary  to  a  healthy  secre 
tion." 

"  Exactly.  Your  views  of  the  subject  is  one  which 
never  struck  me  before;  it  seems  a  very  just  one.  I 
will  partake  of  the  pickled  tongue  in  consideration  of 
your  remarks." 

"  Take  a  slice  on  't,  Sister  Bedott.  You  seem  to 
need  some  tongue  to-day — you  're  oncommon  still." 

"  What  a  musical  man  you  be,  brother  Magwire ! 
but  it  strikes  me  when  an  indiwiddiwal  has  an  oppor- 
tunity o'  hearin'  intellectible  conversation  they  'd  bet 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  167 

ter  keep  still  and  improve  it.  Ain't  it  so,  Elder 
Sniffles?" 

"A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott;  and  one  which 
has  often  occurred  to  my  own  mind." 

"  Take  some  more  of  the  chicken  pie,  Elder  Snif- 
fles." 

"  Excuse  rne,  my  young  friend  ;  I  will  take  nothing 


you  dont't  mean  to  give  it  up  yet,  I  hope, 
eldej." 

1  Indeed,  Mr.  Maguire,  I  assure  you  I  would  rather 
not  take  any  thing  more,  for  as  I  before  remarked,  I 
am  decidedly  opposed  to  excessive  eating  upon  this 
day.'' 

"Well,  then,  well  have  the  pies  and  puddins. 
Jeflj  my  son,  fly  round  and  help  your  mar  change  the 
plates.  I  '11  take  the  puddin,  Melissy  —  you  may  tend 
to  the  pies.  Jeff  set  on  the  cider.  So  here  's  a  plum- 
puddin'  —  it  looks  nice  —  I  guess  you  've  had  good-luck 
to-day  wife.  Sister  Bedott,  you  '11  have  some  on  't  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  'm  obleeged  to  ye.  I  Ve  got  ruther  of  a 
beao^ache  to-day,  and  plum  puddin's  rich.  I  guess 
I  rlJ  take  a  small  piece  o'  the  punkin  pie." 

"  Elder  Sniffles,  you  '11  be  helped  to  some  on  't  of 
course  T" 

•  Indeed,  Mr.  Maguire,  the  practice  of  indulging  in 
aiticles  of  this  description  after  eating  meat  is  esteem- 
ed highly  pernicious,  and  I  inwardly  protest  against 


168      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

it;  furthermore,  as  Mrs.  Bedott  has  very  justly  re- 
marked, plum  pudding  is  rich — however,  considering 
the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  occasion,  I  will  for 
once  overstep  the  boundaries  which  I  have  prescribed 
for  myself." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  '11  have  some,  or 
not  ?" 

"I  will  partake,   in    consideration  of   time    and 


"Jimmeni!  wife,  this  is  good  puddin'  as  I  ever 
eat." 

"  Elder  Sniffles,  will  you  take  some  o'  the  pie — here 
is  a  mince  pie  and  punkin  pie." 

"  I  will  take  a  small  portion  of  the  pumpkin  pie  if 
you  please,  Mrs.  Maguire,  as  I  consider  it  highly  nu- 
tritious ;  but,  as  regards  the  mince  pie,  it  is  an  article 
of  food  which  I  deem  excessively  deleterious  to  the 
constitution,  inasmuch  as  it  is  composed  of  so  great 
a  variety  of  ingredients.  I  esteem  it  exceedingly 
difficult  of  digestion.  Is  it  not  so  my  young  friend  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  elder ;  quite  the  contrary' — and  the 
reason  is  obvious.  Observe,  slder — it  is  cut  into  the 
most  minute  particles ;  hence  it  naturally  follows,  that 
being,  as  it  were,  completely  calcined  before  it  enters 
the  system — it  leaves,  so  to  speak,  no  labor  to  !>e  per- 
formed by  the  digestive  organs,  and  it  is  disposed  of 
without  the  slightest  difficulty." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  your  reasoning  is  quite  new  to  me — 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  169 

yet  I  confess  it  to  be  most  satisfactory  and  lucid.  In 
consideration  of  its  facility  of  digestion  I  will  partake 
also  of  the  mince  pie." 

"  Wife,  fill  the  elder  a  glass  o'  cider." 

"  Desist !  Mrs.  Maguire,  desist;  I  entreat  yon  !  I  in- 
variably set  my  face  like  a  flint  against  the  use  of  all 
intoxicating  liquors  as  a  beverage." 

"  Jimmeni !  you  don't  mean  to  call  new  cider  an  in- 
fcoxicatin'  liquor,  I  hope.  Why,  man  alive,  it 's  jest 
made — hain't  begun  to  work." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  believe  it  to  be  exceedingly  insa- 
lubrious, and  detrimental  to  the  system.  Is  not  that 
its  nature,  my  young  friend  ?" 

"  Far  from  it,  elder — far  from  it.  Reflect  a  moment 
and  you  will  readily  perceive,  that  being  the  pure 
juice  of  the  apple — wholly  free  from  all  alcoholic 
mixture — it  possesses  all  the  nutritive  properties  of  the 
fruit,  with  the  advantage  of  being  in  a  more  condensed 
form,  which  at  once  renders  it  much  more  agreeable, 
and  facilitates  assimilation." 

"  Yery  reasonable — very  reasonable,  indeed.  Mrs. 
Maguire  you  may  fill  my  glass." 

"  Take  another  slice  o'  the  puddin',  Elder  Sniffles." 

"  No  more,  I  'm  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Maguire." 

"  Well,  won't  you  be  helped  to  some  more  'o'  the 
pie?" 

"  No  more,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Maguire." 
8 


170       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"But  you  11  take  another  glass  o'  cider,  won't 
you?" 

"  In  consideration  of  the  nutritious  properties  of 
new  cider,  which  your  son  has  abundantly  shown  to 
exist,  I  will  permit  you  to  replenish  my  glass." 

"  So  you  won't  take  nothin'  more,  elder  ?" 

"Nothing  more,  my  friends — nothing  more  what- 
soever— for  as  1  have  several  times  remarked  during 
the  repast,  I  am  an  individual  of  exceedingly  abste- 
mious habits — endeavoring  to  enforce  by  example 
that  which  I  so  strenuously  enjoin  by  precept  from 
the  pulpit,  to  wit — temperance  in  all  thing." 

"  Walk  into  the  sitting  room,  elder.  Mother  'I] 
have  to  excuse  us  for  a  while.  Aunt  Bedott,  you  71J 
give  us  your  company,  won't  you?" 

"Sartainly." 

"Father,  are  you  not  coming?" 

"  Not  now,  Jeff.  I  Ve  got  to  go  out  for  a  spell. 
I  '11  try  to  be  in  soon." 

"  Take  this  arm-cheer  by  the  stove,  Elder  Sniffles 
— the  room  's  got  ruther  cool ;  Jefferson,  can't  you 
accumelate  the  fire  a  little?" 

"It  strikes  me  very  forcibly,  Mrs.  Bedott,  that 
the  weather  is  somewhat  cool  for  the  season  of  the 
year." 

"  So  it  strikes  me  tew ;  but  I  think  this  is  quite  a 
cool  climit — appearently  considerably  cooler  'n  Wig 
gletown." 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  171 

"  Why  no,  aunt  y— there  can't  be  any  difference  in 
the  climate — the  latitude  's  just  the  same." 

/f  I  guess  not,  Jeff — what  is  the  latitude  o'  Scrabble 
Hill?" 

"  Oh,  it 's  Lbout  forty-two." 

"  Lawful  sakes !  our  'n  in  Wiggletown  's  as  much 
as  fifty,  and  sometimes  in  the  summer  time  it  gits  up 
as  high  as  sixty  or  seventy." 

"Ah!  indeed!  you  surprise  me,  Mrs.  Bedott. 
Speaking  of  "Wiggletown— is  that  your  place  of 
residence?" 

"  It  is  so — the  place  where  the  heft  o'  my  life  has 
ben  spent." 

"  In  what  section  of  the  country  is  it  located  ?" 

"It's  sitiwated  between  Ganderfleld  and  Tuckertown, 
Slammerkin'  crick  runs  along  the  south  side  on 't.'.' 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  comprehend ;  I  think  I  have  an  indie- 
eliminate  recollection  of  the  place.  If  I  am  not  mis- 
tai.en  I  journeyed  through  it  some  two  years  since,  in 
company  with  my  companion  (now  deceased),  on  a 
visit  to  her  relatives  in  that  section." 

4'H-o-o-oI  how  you  talk!  that  journey  must  be  a 
mellancolly  subjiek  o?  reflection  now — how  little  you 
thought  then  that  in  tew  year  you'd  be  called  to 
mourn  her  departer !  how  onsartin'  the  futur  is !" 

<s  True — a  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott,  very,  in 

we  are  sojourn ers  in  a  world  of  fluctuation  1" 
0,  Elder  Sniffles— how  true  that  is  I" 


172       WIDOW  BBDOTT  PAPERS. 

*'•  One  moment  tossed  on  the  billows  of  prosperity 
and  joy,  and  the  next  plunged  into  the  abya°es  of 
desperation  and  despair." 

"  O,  Elder  Sniffles,  what  a  strikin'  remark ;  every 
word  you  say  goes  to  the  bottom  o'  my  heart.  I  -tew 
mourn  the  loss  of  a  pardner,  and  bein'  as  we  're  simi 
larly  sittiwated,  I  feel  as  if  we  could  sympathize  with 
one  another.  You  hain't  no  children — I  Ve  got  tew,  but 
they're  married  and  settled,  and  I'm  as  good  as  alone 
in  the  world.  It 's  a  tryin'  sittiwation — very  tryin'." 

"  It  is  so,  Mrs.  Bedott — your  remark  is  a  very  just  one 
— very,  indeed — your  situation  is  undoubtedly  a  trying 
one — but  you  are  in  easy  circumstances,  I  believe  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  ginerally  speakin'  I  be  purty  easy, 
though  sometimes  I'm  ruther  uneasy  when  I  think 
o'  the  futur — I  was  wonderfully  struck  with  a  remark 
in  your  sarmon  this  mornin' — it  described  my  feelins 
so  egzackly." 

"  Allow  me  to  inquire  what  that  remark  was>  Mrs, 
Bedott?" 

[The  conversation  is  here  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maguire]. 

"Well,  elder,  how  do  you  come  on — time  pass 
agreeably  ?" 

"  Most  agreeably,  Mr.  Maguire,  most  agreeably,  in 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Bedott." 

"  Glad  on 't — Jeff,  here 's  the  last  '  Luminary,'  want 
it?  I  Ve  read  it  purty  much  all,  exceptin'  the  poetry." 


THANKSGIVING    DAY.  173 

"  Does  it  contain  a  poem  by  '  Hugelina?'  If  so,  per- 
mit me  to  request  yDU  to  favor  us  with  it,  my  young 
friend.  She  is  indeed  a  most  extraordinary  writer." 
"  She  is,  that 's  a  fact>— Jeff,  less  have  it." 
(Jeff  reads) — "  Those  of  our  readers  who  are  in  any 
degree  imbued  with  a  love  of  the  poetic — with  an 
appreciation  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful — will  find  a 
rich  treat  in  the  following  exquisite  lines  from  the  pen 
of  our  highly  gifted  correspondent  '  Hugelina.'  Aside 
from  the  high  degree  of  finish  which  her  effusions 
always  possess,  the  ensuing  lines  breathe  a  spirit  of 
world- weariness  and  self  abandonment  exceedingly 
touching. 

SONNET. 

Oblivion !  stretch  thine  everlasting  -wings, 
And  hide  from  human  gaze  my  mournful  lyre — 
For  while  my  earth-worn,  weary  spirit  sirfgs, 
I  frequently  feel  desirous  to  expire. 
It  is  no  vain  and  vanishing  desire, 
But  a  compulsatory  wish  that  seems 
To  mingle  nightly  in  my  visioned  dreams — 
A  wish  to  leave  this  uncongenial  sphere, 
Which  souls  like  mine  are  apt  to  find  so  drear. 

0  for  a  residence  in  yonder  orb 

Which  doth  the  affections  of  my  soul  absorb ! 
My  spirit  seeks  in  vain  for  sympathy  here ; 

1  feel  as  I  have  never  felt  before— 

The  ODS  wild,  withering  wish — to  die  and  be  no  more ! 

HtJGELMA. 

"  A  splendid  production,  truly — but  does  it  not 
strike  you  Mrs.  Maguire,  that  there  is  a  slight  degree 
of  obscurity  in  the  poem  ?" 


174      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  0  don't  ax  me — I  can't  make  head  nor  tail  on 't — 
what's  your  opinion,  Jefferson?" 

"  Well,  I  think  that  the  obscurity  of  which  Elder 
Sniffles  complains  constitutes  the  greatest  beauty  of 
the  poem.  Don't  you  know,  elder,  we  are  never 
deeply  interested  in  any  thing  that  we  can  compre- 
hend at  the  first  glance.  There  must  be  some  mystery, 
some  hidden  meaning  to  excite  at  once  our  curiosity 
and  admiration — Shakespeare  himself  often  writes 
obscurely,  you  know." 

"  Shakespeare  1  that  is  an  author  that  I  am  not 
conversant  with.  What  does  he  principally  treat 
of?" 

"  O,  theology,  and  metaphysics,  and  so  forth." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  recollect  now — I  think  I  have  seen 
some  of  his  sermons.  On  consideration,  your  reason- 
ing in  relation  to  the  poem  strikes  me  as  quite  con 
elusive.  There  should  be — as  you  very  justly  re- 
mark— a  hidden  meaning  to  create  an  interest  in  any 
thing  of  that  description." 

"Well,  then,  that  poitry  must  be  awful  interestin', 
for  all  the  meanin'  ther  is  in  't  is  hid,  and  no  mistake 
— don't  you  say  so,  husband  ?" 

"  O,  I  ain't  no  judge  o'  poitry— ax  sister  Bedott, 
she  knows  all  about  poitry,  writes  bags  on  't." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  is  it  true,  Mrs.  Bedott,  that  you  cul- 
tivate the  poetic  art  ?" 

«  Well,  '*  ain't  for  me  to  say  " 


xvn 

tttires  to  a  firote  in  t(*  rm 


S 


HE  sits  down  on  a  log  and  sings  in  a  plaintive 
voice, 

Ere  love  had  teached  my  tears  to  flow, 
.  I  was  oncommon  cherful, 
But  now  such  misery  I  dew  know 
I  'm  always  sad  and  ferful. 

What  peaceful  hours  I  once  enjoyed, 

All  on  a  summer's  day ! 
But  O,  my  comforts  was  destroyed, 

When  Shadrack  crossed  my  way ! 

I  heerd  him  preach — I  heerd  him  pray — 

I  heerd  him  sweetly  sing, 
Dear  suz !  how  I  did  feel  that  day ! 

It  was  a  dretful  thing  1 

Full  forty  dollars  would  I  give, 

If  we  'd  continnerd  apart — 
For  though  he 's  made  my  sperrit  live, 

He 's  surely  bust  my  heart ! 


{She  sighs  profoundly — and  the  elder  advances  un- 
esypectedly.) 
*'  Good  gracious  1  is  that  you,  Elder  Sniffles  I  how 


176      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

you  did  scare  me !  Never  was  so  frustrated  in  all  the 
days  o'  my  life !  hadent  the  most  remotest  idee  o' 
meetin  you  here — wouldent  a  come  for  forty  dollars  if 
I  'd  a  s'posed  you  ever  meander'd  here.  I  never  was 
here  afore — but  I  was  a  settin'  by  my  winder  and  I 
cast  my  eyes  over  here,  and  as  I  obsarved  the  lofty 
trees  a.  wavin'  in  the  gentle  blast,  and  heerd  the  feath- 
ered singsters  a  wobblin'  their  mellancolly  music,  1 
felt  quite  a  call  to  come  over,  it 's  so  retired  and  mo 
rantic — such  an  approbriate  place  to  marvel  round  in, 
ye  know,  when  a  body  feels  low  sperrited  and  uncon- 
solable,  as  I  dew  to  night.  O,  d-e-a-r!" 

"  Most  worthy  Mrs.  Bedott  your  evident  depression 
fills  me  with  unmitigated  sympathy.  Your  feelings, 
(if  I  may  be  permitted  to  judge  from  .he  language  of 
your  song,  which  I  overheard") — 

"  You  dident  though,  elder !  the  dretful  suz  !  what 
shall  I  dew  !  I  wouldent  a  had  you  heerd  that  song 
for  no  money  !  I  wish  I  hadent  a  some !  I  wish  to 
gracious  I  hadent  a  come !" 

"  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Bedott,  it  was  unintentional  on 
my  part,  entirely  unintentional,  but  my  contiguity  to 
yourself,  and  your  proximity  to  me,  were  such  as  ren- 
dered it  impossible  for  me  to  avoid  heariLg  you — " 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now,  it 's  no  use  cryin'  for 
Bpilt  milk,  but  I  wouldent  hev  you  to  think  I  know'd 
you  ever  come  here." 

"  On  the  contrary,  this  grove  is  a  favorite  resort  of 


THE    WIDOW    RETIRES    TO    A    GROVE.      177 

mine  ;  it  affords  a  congenial  retreat  after  the  extermi- 
nating and  tremendous  mental  labors  of  the  day.  I 
not  unfrequently  spend  the  declining  hours  of  the 
evening  here,  buried  in  the  most  profound  meditation. 
On  your  entrance,  I  was  occupying  my  customary  seat 
beneath  that  umbrageous  mounting  ash  which  you 
perceive  a  few  feet  from  you :  indeed,  had  not  your 
mind  been  much  pre-occupied,  you  could  scarcely  have 
avoided  discovering  me." 

"  O,  granf  ther  grievous !  I  wish  I  'd  a  stayed  to  hum ! 
1  was  born  for  misfortin'  and  no  thin'  else !  I  wish  to 
massy  I  'd  a  stayed  to  hum  to-night !  but  I  felt  as  if 
I  'd  like  to  come  here  once  afore  I  leave  the  place." 
(She  weeps.) 

"Ah!  indeed!  do  you  preject  leaving  Scrabble 
Hill?" 

"Yes,  I  dew,  I  calklate  to  go  next  week.  I  must  hear 
you  preach  once  more — once  more,  elder,  and  then  I  'm 
agwine — somewher — I  don't  care  where,  nor  I  don't 
care  what  becomes  o'  me  when  I  git  there."  (She 
sobs  violently.) 

"O,  Mrs.  Bedott,  you  distress  me  beyond  limitation 
—permit  me  to  inquire  the  cause  of  this  uncontrolla- 
ble agony  ?" 

"'  0,  Elder  Sniffles,  you  *re  the  last  indiwiddiwal 
that  ought  to  ax  such  a  question.  O,  I  shall  die !  ] 
thall  give  it  up  !" 

"  Madam,  my  interest  in  your  welfare  is  intense,  al 
8* 


178      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

low  me  lo  entreat  you  still  more  vehenr-mtlj'  to  un- 
burden your  mind,  perhaps  it  is  in  my  power  to  re- 
lieve you." 

"  Relieve  me !  what  an  idee !  O,  elder,  you  will  be 
the  death  o'  me  if  you  make  me  revulge  my  feelins  so. 
An  hour  ago,  I  felt  as  if  I  'd  a'  died  afore  I  'd  a  said 
what  I  hev  said  now,  but  you  ve  draw'd  it  out  o*  me." 

"Respected  madam,"  you  have  as  yet  promulged 
nothing  satisfactory,  permit-  me — " 

"O,  granfther  grievous!  must  I  come  to't!  well 
then,  if  I  must,  I  must,  so  to  begin  at  the  beginnin'. 
When  I  fust  heern  you  preach,  your  sarmons  onset- 
tied  my  faith ;  but  after  a  spell  I  was  convinced  by 
yer  argefyin',  and  gin  up  my  'roneus  notions,  and  my 
mind  got  considerable  carm.  But  how  could  I  set 
Sabberday  after  Sabberday  under  the  droppin's  o'  yer 
voice,  and  not  begin  to  feel  a  mor  'n  ordinary  interest 
in  the  speaker  ?  I  indevored  not  tew,  but  I  couldent 
help  it ;  't  was  in  vain  to  struggle  against  the  feelins 
that  prepossest  my  buzzom.  But  it 's  all  over  with 
me  now  !  my  felicitude  is  at  an  eend  !  my  sittiwation 
is  hopeless!  I  shall  go  back  to  Wiggletown  next 
week  and  never  truble  you  no  more." 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Bedott,  you  alarm — ' 

"  Yes,  you  never  '11  see  no  more  trouble  with  Pris- 
silly.  I  'm  agwine  back  to  Wiggleton.  Can't  bear  to 
go  back  there  nother,  on  account  o'  the  indiwiddi 
wale  that  I  come  away  to  git  rid  of.  There  's  Cappen 


THE   WIDOW    BE TIRES    TO    A    GBOVE.      179 

Canoot,  lie  's  always  been  after  me  ever  since  my  hus- 
band died,  though  I  hain't  never  gin  him  no  incur- 
ridgement — but  he  won't  take  no  for  an  answer.  I 
dread  the  critter's  attentions.  And  Squire  Bailey — 
he 's  wonderful  rich- — but  that  ain't  no  recommendation 
to  me,  and  I  Ve  told  him  so  time  and  agin,  but  Is'pose 
he  thinks  I'll  come  round  bumby.  And  Deacon 
Crosby,  he  lost  his  pardner  a  spell  afore  I  come  away, 
he  was  very  much  pleased  with  me,  he  's  a  wonderful 
fine  man — make  a  fust  rate-husband.  I  kind  o'  hesi- 
tated when  he  promulgated  his  sentiments  tew  me, 
told  him  I  'd  think  on  't  till  I  come  back — s'pose  he  11 
be  at  me  as  soon  as  I  git  there.  I  hate  to  disappoint 
Deacon  Crosby,  he 's  such  a  fine  man,  and  my  dezeased 
companion  sot  so  much  by  him,  but  then  I  don't  feel 

for  him,  as  I  dew  for .     He  's  a  Presbyterian  tew, 

and  I  don't  think 't  would  be  right  to  unite  my  desti 
nation  to  hisen." 

"  Undoubtedly  in  your  present  state  of  feeling,  the 
uncongeniality  would  render  a  union — " 

"  O,  dear,  dear,  dear !  I  can't  bear  to  go  back  there 
and  indure  their  attentions,  but  thank  fortune,  they 
won't  bother  me  long — I  shall  go  into  a  decline,  I 
know  I  shall,  as  well  as  I  want  to  know  it.  My  troub- 
les '11  soon  be  over — ondoubtedly  they  '11  put  up  a 
monnyment  to  my  memory — I  Ve  got  the  description 
all  ready  for 't — it  says, 


L80  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PA  PEES. 

Here  sleeps  Prissilly  P.  Bedott, 

Late  relic  of  Hezekior, 
How  mellancolly  was  her  lot  I 

How  soon  she  did  expire  I 

She  did  n't  commit  self-suicide, 
'T  was  tribbilation  killed  her, 

O,  what  a  pity  she  had  n't  a'  died 
Afore  she  saw  the  elder ! — 


And  O,  elder,  you  '11  visit  my  grave,  won't  ye,  and 
shed  tew  or  three  tears  over  it  ?  'T  would  be  a  con- 
solation tew  me  to  think  you  would." 

"  In  case  I  should  ever  have  occasion  to  journey 
thro'  that  section  of  country,  and  could  consistently 
with  my  arrangements  make  it  convenient  to  tarry  for 
a  short  time  at  Wiggletown,  I  assure  you  it  would  af- 
ford me  much  pleasure  to  visit  your  grave  agreeably 
to  your  request." 

"  0,  elder,  how  onfeelin' !" 

"Unfeeling!  did  I  not  understand  you  correctly 
when  I  understood  you  to  request  me  to  visit  your 
grave  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  so  carm, 
when  I  'm  a  talkin'  about  dyin'." 

"  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Bedott,  I  had  not  the  slightest 
intention  of  manifesting  a  want  of  feeling  in  my  re- 
mark. I  should  regard  your  demise  as  a  most  deplor- 
able event,  and  it  would  afford  me  no  small  degree  of 
satisfaction  to  prevent  so  melancholy  a  catastrophe 
were  it  in  my  power." 


THE    WIDOW    RETIRES    TO    A    GROVE.      181 

"Well,  I  guess  111  go  hum.  If  Sally  should 
know  you  was  here  a  talkin'  with  me,  she  'd  make  an 
awful  fuss,." 

"  Indeed.  I  see  nc  reason  to  fear  that  my  domestic 
should  interfere  in  any  of  my  proceedings." 

'•  O,  lawful  sakes !  how  numb  you  be,  elder !  I 
dident  illude  to  Sal  Blake — I  meant  Sal  Hugle,  she  't 
you  're  ingaged  tew." 

"Engaged  to  Miss  Hugle!  you  alarm  me,  Mrs. 
Be—" 

"Now  don't  undertake  to  deny  it,  elder;  every 
body  says  it 's  a  fact." 

"  Well  then,  it  only  remains  for  me  to  assert  that 
every  body  is  laboring  under  an  entire  and  unmitigat- 
ed mistake." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  eider !  well,  I  declare  I  dew  feel 
relieved.  I  couldent  indure  the  idee  o'  stayin'  here 
to  see  that  match  go  off.  She 's  so  onworthy — so  dif- 
ferent from  what  your  companion  had  ought  to  be — • 
and  so  lazy — and  makes  such  awful  poitry ;  and  then 
she  hain't  worth  a  cent  in  the  world.  But  I  don't 
want  to  say  a  word  aginst  her;  for  if  you  ain't  in- 
gaged  now,  mabby  you  witf  oe.  O,  elder !  promise 
me,  dew  promise  me  how  't  you  won't  marry  that 
critter.  'T  would  be  a  consolation  tew  me  when  I  'm 
fur  away  on  my  dyhr  bed,  to  know — "  [she  weeps 
with  renewed  energy.]  "  O,  elder,  I  'm  afreard  I  'm 
a  gwine  to  hev  the  highsterics  I  'm  subjiok  tr 


182  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

epasmatic  affections  when  I  'm  excited  and  over 
come." 

"  You  alarm  me,  Mrs.  Bedott!  I  will  hasten  to  the 
house,  and  bring  the  sal  volatile,  which  may  restore 
you." 

"  For  the  land's  sake,  elder,  don't  go  after  Sal ;  she 
can't  dew  nothing  for  me.  It  '11  only  make  talk,  for 
she  '11  tell  it  all  round  the  village.  Jest  take  that  are 
newspaper  that  sticks  out  o'  yer  pocket,  and  fan  me 
with  it  £  leetle.  There — I  feel  quite  resusticated, 
I'm  obleeged  tew  ye;  guess  I  can  manage  ;o  git  hum 
now."  [She  rises.] 

"Farewell,  Elder  Sniffles!  adoo!  we  part  to  meet 
no  more !" 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Bedott !  do  not  speak  in  that  mournful 
strain ;  you  distress  me  beyond  all  mitigation" — [he 
takes  her  hand]  "pray  reseat  yourself,  and  allow  me 
to  prolong  the  conversation  for  a  short  period.  As  I 
before  observed,  your  language  distresses  me  beyond 
all  duration." 

"  Dew  you  actilly  feel  distressed  at  the  idee  o'  part- 
in' with  me?" 

"  Most  indubitably,  Mrs  Bedott." 

"Well,  then,  what's  the  use  o'  partin'  at  all?  0, 
what  hev  I  said  I  what  /ze?/  I  said  i" 

"  Ahem — aha^v '  allow  me  to  inquire—  are  you  in 
easy  circumstances,  Mrs.  Bedott  ?" 


THE    WIDOW    RETIRES    TO    A    GROVE.      183 

11  Well,  not  intirely,  yet ;  though  I  feel  considerable 
easier  'n  what  I  did  an  hour  ago." 

"  Ahem !  I  imagine  that  you  do  not  fully  apprehend 
my  meaning.  I  am  a  clergyman — a  laborer  in  the 
vineyard  of  the  Lord — as  such  you  will  readily  un- 
derstand I  can  not  be  supposed  to  abound  in  the  filthy 
lucre  of  this  world  my  remuneration  is  small — 
hence — " 

"  0,  elder,  how  can  you  s'pose  I  'd  hesitate  on  ac- 
count o'  your  bein'  poor  ?  Don't  think  on 't — it  only 
increases  my  opinion  of  you ;  money  ain't  no  objick 
to  me." 

''  I  naturally  infer  from  your  indifference  respecting 
the  amount  of  my  worldly  possessions,  that  you  your- 
self have—" 

"  Don't  be  oneasy,  elder,  dear — don't  illude  tew  it 
again;  depend  on 't  you 're  jest  as  dear  to  me,  every 
bit  and  grain,  as  you  would  be  if  you  owned  all  the 
mines'  of  Ingy." 

"  I  will  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  So  I  s'pose  we'  re  engaged." 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  We  're  ingaged,  and  my  tribbilation  is  at  an  end.11 
[Her  libad  droops  on  his  shoulder.]  "  0,  Shadrack  I 
what  will  Ilugelina  say  when  she  hears  on  't?' 


XVIII. 

f  \t  Mite  Mritos  to  J*r  |awg|Ut,  gits. 


DEAR  MELISSY  :  — 

T  NOW  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  tell  you  that  J 
ruther  guess  you  '11  be  considerably  astonished 
when  you  read  what  I  set  down  to  rite.  I  Ve  got 
some  news  to  tell,  that  you  can't  guess  if  you.  try  till 
next  never,  so  you  may  as  well  give  it  up  furst  as  last 
afore  you  begin.  And  you  ain't  to  let  on  a  word 
about  it  only  to  Jubiter  and  Kier  and  Seliny.  Come 
to  think,  I  don't  care  if  you  tell  Sam  Pendergrasses 
wife,  bein'  as  how  she  's  a  partickler  friend  o'  mine. 

But  don't  you  open  yer  head  about  it  to  no  other 
indiwiddiwal  —  for  I  want  to  supprise  the  Wiggleiown 
folks,  and  make  'em  open  ther  eyes  a  leetle.  Come 
to  considder,  I  guess  you  'd  better  not  tell  Miss  Pen- 
dergrass,  for  I  'm  afeard  she  can't'  keep  it  'x.  herself 
She  might  let  it  out  to  the  Kenipes,  and  they  'd  tell 
the  Crosbys,  and  the  Crosbys  they  'd  carry  it  strait  to 
Major  Coon's  wife,  and  she  'd  be  sure  to  tell  old  Daw- 
son's  wife  (the  widder  Jinkins  that  was  —  she  't  was 


WEITES    TO    HER    DAUGHTER.  185 

Poll  Bingham),  and  she 's  the  verry  undentical  person 
I  want  to  keep  it  from  till  it  busts  upon  her  all  of  a 
sudding,  like  a  thunder-clap,  I  guess  I'll  let  her 
know  't  I  can  hold  my  head  as  high  as  hern  in  futur, 
for  who  did  she  git  but  a  decrippid  old  bung  head 
that  she  wouldent  a  had  if  she  could  a  got  any  body 
else.  I  guess  on  the  hull  you  hadent  better  say  noth- 
in'  about  it  to  Kier's  wife  for  fear  she  '11  tell  her  folks, 
and  they  'il  sartinly  devulgate  it  all  round.  If  you 
dew  tell  hsr,  you  make  her  promise  she  won't  hint  a 
sillyble  about  it  to  her  step-mother — she  't  was  Kesier 
Winkle — nor  to  nobody  else.  You  must  all  keep  it  a 
perfound  secret  till  I  come.  If  nothin'  happens  to 
per  vent,  we  shall  be  in  Wiggletown  next  week,  a 
Saturday,  on  our  bridal  tewer.  A  Sunday  mornin 
we  calkilate  to  gc  to  meetin'  along  a  you  and  Jubiter, 
and  in  the  afternoon  we  shall  tend  the  Baptist  meetin'. 
I  tell  ye  won't  ther  be  some  starin'  in  Wiggletown 
that  day.  I  guess  they  '11  find  out  that  I  'm  as  good 
as  enny  on  'em  if  not  a  leetle  better.  I  shan't  hev  on 
none  o'  the  things  they  've  ever  seen  me  wear.  My 
riggin  's  to  be  intirely  new.  Yer  Uncle  Magwire  has 
made  me  a  present  of  a  hansome  green  merino  dress, 
a^d  yer  Aunt  Magwire  has  gi'n  me  a  new  brown 
velvet  bunnit,  and  yer  Cousin  Jefferson  has  presented 
tne  an  elegant  plaid  shawl,  and  I  calkilate  to  come  out 
m  'em  all  in  Wiggletown. 

Speakin1  c  my  new  wardrobes,  reminds  me  to  tell 


186       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

you  that  if  Jabe  Clark  comes  your  way  a  peddlin', 
not  to  trade  a  cent's  woth  with.  him.  You  remember 
how  he  come  it  over  me  about  the  shoes,  don't  ye? 
Well  it 's  amazin'  I  should  ever  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
be  took  in  by  him  agin — but  so  'twas.  He  come 
along  here  a  spell  ago,  and  sarved  me  the  awfullest 
trick  that  ever  you  heerd  on.  I  was  alone  in  the  house 
— yer  aunt  had  went  to  a  sick  nabor's,  and  the  way  he 
cheated  me  was  perfectly  dretful.  My  blud  oiles  now 
a  thinkin'  on 't.  He  pretended  he  'd  experienced  re- 
ligion, and  lamented  over  the  way  he  used  to  cheat 
and  lie ;  and  as  true  as  I  live  and  breathe,  actilly  got 
round  me  so  't  he  preswaded  me  to  swop  away  an  ele- 
gant stun  colored  silk,  that  cost  me  a  dollar  a  yard, 
for  a  miserable  slazy  stripid  consarn,  that  he  said  was 
all  the  fashion  now — called  it  "  grody  flewry" — and 
what  makes  it  more  aggravatin'  made  me  pay  tew  dol- 
lars to  boot.  But  that  wa'n't  the  wost  on 't,  for  com  3 
to  enroll  it,  we  found  that  three  or  four  yards  away 
at  t'  other  eend  on  't  was  all  dammidged  and  stained 
up — 't  wa'n't  fit  for  nothing.  Yer  aunt  was  mad  at 
me  for  bein'  so  took  in,  and  yer  uncle  he  laffit  and 
hectored  me  and  went  on  about  it — you  know  what  a 
critter  he  is  to  bother  a  boddy.  At  last  I  busted  out 
a  cryin,'  and  went  off  and  shot  myself  up  in  my  room, 
and  stayed  there  till  tea  time — and  when  I  come  down, 
lo  and  behold,  yer  uncle  stept  up  and  handed  me  a 
new  green  merino  dress — he  'd  ben  off  to  che  stoit 


WRITES    TO    HER    DAUGHTER.  187 

and  bought  it  a  purpose  for  me,  fringe,  and  buttons 
and  every  thing  to  trim  it  with,  and  I  've  got  it  made 
up,  and  it  sets  like  a  dandy — and  I  'm  gwine  to  be 
married  in  it.  But  I  can't  help  feelin'  awfully  gauled 
about  the  silk.  I  took  it  to  Parker  and  Pettibone's  and 
swoppt  it  for  some  things  I  wanted.  They  wouldent 
allow  me  but  eighteen  pence  a  yard,  and  't  was  all 
't  was  woth.  Jabe  made  me  take  a  couple  o'  hanker- 
chers  tew,  for  a  dollar  a  piece — said  he  'd  stake  his 
repertation  on  't  they  wa'n't  half  cotton — and  no  more 
they  wa'n't,  for  come  to  dew  'em  up,  they  showed  out 
plain  enuff  that  they  was  all  cotton — did  you  aver? 
He  got  round  the  elder  tew — made  him  pay  five  dol- 
lars for  a  buzzum  pin — said  't  was  topiz  sot  in  gold, 
and  it  turned  out  to  be  yaller  glass  with  a  pinchback 
rim  round  it.  I  was  clear  out  o'  pashence  with  the 
elder  for  bein*  so  green — but  sittiwated  as  I  was  I 
couldent  say  nothin'  ye  know.  If  ever  I  come  acrost 
Jabe  Clark  agin,  if  he  don't  ketch  it,  no  matter.  But 
I  'm  wonderful  bizzy  about  these  days — and  so  no 
more  at  present  from  your  affectionate  mother, 

PRISSILLA  P.  BEDOTT. 

P.  S.  Give  my  love  to  Jubiter.  I'm  gratified  to 
hear  that  the  baby  is  so  forrard.  What  do  you  calM- 
late  to  call  him  ?  I  hope  it  won't  be  Jubiter — for 
somehow  I  don't  egzactly  like  the  name,  tho'  it  sounds 
well  for  a  man.  But  don't  in  all  favor  name  him  artei 


188       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

yer  par.  Hezekier's  an  awful  name.  How  do  yc 
like  Shadrack?  That's  the  name  o'  his  grandfather 
that's  to  be.  Yer  uncle  and  aunt  and  Jeff  sends 
love.  P.  p.  B. 

P.  S.  Yer  cousin  Jeff  axed  permission  to  read  this 
letter,  and  he  says  I  hain't  told  you  who  I  'm  gwine 
to  be  married  tew,  nor  when  the  weddin'  's  to  be, 
nor  nothin'.  But 't  ain't  to  be  wondered  at  that  I 
forgot,  for  I  Ve  got  such  a  numerous  number  o'  things 
to  think  on  now.  My  future  companion  is  the 
Baptist  minister  o'  this  place — by  the  name  o'  Elder 
Sniffles.  The  way  we  come  acquainted  was  quite 
singular.  You  see  I  took  to  attendin'  his  meetin' 
because  the  Presbyterian  minister  here  is  such  smaE 
potaters  that 't  wa'n't  eddifyin'  for  me  to  set  under  his 
preachin',  and  understandin'  that  Elder  "Sniffles  was  a 
very  gifted  man  I  thought  I  'd  go  to  hear  him. 
Well,  I  liked  him  wonderful  well,  he's  a  powerful 
speaker  and  his  prayers  is  highly  interestin'.  So  I 
goes  to  hear  him  a  number  o'  times.  He  obsarved 
me  and  was  evidently  pleased  with  me — but  during 
all  the  time  I  was  creatin'  such  a  sensation  in  his 
feelins  I  never  knowd  but  what  he  had  a  wife.  How 
I  did  feel  when  I  found  out  he  was  a  widdiwer.  I 
was  dretfully  flustrated,  and  kep  myself  as  scarce  as 
possible.  But  he  follered  me  up  and  parsevered,  till 
at  last  I  consented  t)  accept  o'  him.  It 's  mellancol] y 


WRITES    TO    HEE    DAUGHTER.  189 

to  be  alone  in  the  world,  and  then  ministers  don't 
grow  on  every  bush.  The  weddin'  is  to  take  place 
next  week  a  Wensday  evenin'  at  yer  uncle's.  Elder 
Yawpers,  from  Slabtown,  is  to  reform  the  ceremony 
and  preach  in  Elder  Sniffleses  place  the  next  Sabbath 
when  we  're  gone. 

The  elder  lives  in  a  gamble  nifffc  yallar  house.  I 
mean  to  make  him  put  wings  to  't  and  make  it  look 
rather  more  fashionable.  It  stans  on  a  descendin' 
elevation  that  slants  down  to  the  canawl  on  the  one 
side,  and  not  fur  behind  it  is  a  morantic  grove.  He 
hain't  no  family  but  a  little  highty  tighty  gal  that  they 
brought  up.  I  tell  ye  if  I  don't  make  her  stan'  round 
when  I  get  there  I  'm  mistaken.  We  shall  start  for 
Wiggletown  a  Thursday,  in  the  stage — and  git  there, 
I  s'pose,  Saturday  evenin'.  Now  Melissy  Smith  re- 
member you  're  to  keep  it  a  profound  secret.  I  don't 
want  nobody  in  Wiggletown  to  know  a  word  about 
it  till  they  see  us  come  a  walkin'  into  meetin'.  If  you 
anser  this  afore  we  come,  direct  to  the  Eeverend  Mrs. 
Sniffles. 

Your  affectionate  mar,          P.  P.  BEDOTT, 
(till  next  week). 

P.  S.  I  've  writ  an  elegy  on  my  marriage  that  Jeff 
thinks  is  one  o'  my  best  poims.  He  's  gwine  to  send 
it  to  be  printed  in  the  "  Scrabble  Hill  Luminary,"  right 
cinder  the  marriage  notice.  He 's  a  keepin'  it  from 


190  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS 

his  par  and  mar,  cause  they  hain't  no  sense  o  poitiy — 
yer  aunt  espeshelly  has  always  disencurridged  mj 
writin'  for  the  papers.  But  she  can't  help  herself. 

P.  P.  IX 

[From  the  Scrabble  Hill  Lamlnary.] 

MAEEIED. — In  this  village  on  Wedensday,  the  20th 
inst.,  by  the  Eev.  Elder  Yawpers,  of  Slabtown,  the 
Rev.  0.  SHABRACK  SNIFFLES,  of  Scrabble  Hill,  to  Mrs. 
PRISCILLA  P  BEDOTT,  relict  of  the  late  Deacon  Heze- 
kiah  Bedott,  Esq.,  of  Wiggletown. 

The  fair  bride  has  sent  us  the  following  morceau — 
which  our  readers  will  unite  with  us  in  pronouncing 
equal  to  a  former  effusion  from  the  same  gifted  pen. 
We  wish  the  happy  pair  all  the  felicity  which  theii 
distinguished  abilities  so  richly  merit. — EDS.  LUM 

TO    SHADRACK. 

Prissifla  the  fair  aid  Shadrack  the  wise, 

Have  united  their  fortunes  in  the  tenderest  of  ties; 

And  being  mutually  joined  in  the  matrimonial  connection, 

Have  bid  adoo  to  their  previous  affliction. 

No  more  mil  they  mourn  their  widdered  sittiwation, 
And  continner  to  sy the  without  mitigation ; 
But  pardners,  for  life  to  be  parted  no  more, 
Their  sorrers  is  eended,  their  troubles  is  o'er. 

O  Shadrack,  my  Shadrack  I    Prissilla  did  speak, 
While  the  rosy  red  blushes  surmantled  her  chock, 
And  the  tears  of  affection  bedoozled  her  eye, 

0  Shadrack,  my  Shadrack  !    I  'm  yourn  till  I  die 

The  heart  that  was  scornful  and  cold  as  a  stun, 
Has  surrendered  at  last  to  the  fortinit  one ; 
Farewell  to  the  miseries  and  griefs  I  have  had, 

1  '11  never  desert  thee,  0  Shadrack,  my  Shad! 


XLX. 

***  Sniffles  3Hrr0rt. 


T  EFT  Scrabble  Hill  this  mornin'  in  the  stage  for 
Liberty  ville.  Felt  like  death  about  leavin'  my 
beloved  companion,  but  he  insisted  on  Jt;  said  't  would 
be  onpleasant  for  me  to  stay  to  hum  while  the  par- 
sonage was  undergwine  repairs;  and,  besides  the 
journey  'd  be  for.  my  health  ;  so  at  last  I  yealded  to 
conformity  and  went.  'T  was  determined  I  should 
visit  the  Crippinses,  at  Liberty  ville  —  Mrs.  Crippin  bein' 
my  husband's  cousin. 

The  mornin  was  derlicious,  and  Aurory  shone  with 
undiminished  lusture.  The  feathered  songsters  wob- 
bled in  the  groves  ;  the  breezes  was  ladened  with  the 
fragrance  of  ten  thousand  flowers,  while  natur  seemed 
to  vie  with  creation  to  render  the  scene  one  of  unmit- 
igated splendor.  But  I  scercely  noticed  it  a  bit  ;  for  I 
wa'n't  in  a  sittiwation  to  enjoy  it  a  mite.  Alas  1  iny 
hull  soul  was  with  Shadrack. 

Ther  wa  n't  but  tew  individiwals  besides  me  in  the 
stage,  and  they  was  men  folks.  I  should  a  found  the 


192       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

journey  awful  tejus  if  I  hadent  amused  myself  by 
courtin'  the  muses,  as  Shadrack  calls  it.  I  had  a  pen- 
cil and  a  piece  o'  paper  in  my  ridicule,  and  I  axed  one 
o'  the  gentlemen  to  lend  me  his  hat  to  write  on.  He 
handed  it  out  very  perlitely,  and  I  composed  the  fol- 
lerin'  stanzys: 

TO    MY    OWN    ONE. 

Farewell  to  Scrabble  Hill  I 

Farewell  to  my  dear  Shad ! 
I  leave  you  much  against  my  will, 

And  so  I  feel  quite  bad. 

0  Shadrack  think  o'  me 
When  I  am  far  away ; 

1  sartingly  shall  think  o'  thee 
Wherever  I  do  stray. 

Adoo  1  a  fond  adoo ! 

Dear  pardner  o'  my  heart. 
The  idee  o'  comin'  back  to  you 

Sustains  me  while  we  part. 

0  if  my  Shad  should  be 
Onwell  while  I  'm  from  home, 

1  shall  feel  most  onpleasantlee, 
And  wish  I  had  n't  a  come. 

But  I  will  hope  and  pray 

That  we  may  both  be  able 
To  meet  agin  some  fntur  day, 

Aliv 


.Every  thing  conspired  to  remind  me  of  my  absent 
one.  The  men  that  was  my  feller  passengers  smoked 
the  heft  o'  the  time.  My  Shadrack  loves  his  pipe,  and 
vt  does  me  so  much  good  to  see  him  enjoy  it.  The  in- 


THE    REV.    MRS.    SNIFFLES    ABROAD.      198 

diwiddiwal  that  lent  me  Ms  hat  brought  him  very  for- 
cibly to  my  mind.  He  was  drest  in  black,  and  had  a 
wonderful  dignified  and  thoughtful  cast  of  expression. 
I  made  up  my  mind  he  was  a  clargyman  as  soon  as  I 
sot  eyes  on  him ;  so  when  I  handed  back  his  hat  1 
ventured  to  inquire  where  his  field  o'  labor  was.  He 
hem'd  and  haw'd,  and  seem'd  ruther  imbarrised.  So  I 
says;  says  I,  "  I  s'pose  I  ain't  mistaken  in  takin'  you 
for  a  clargyman  ?" 

But  afore  he  had  time  to  answer,  t'  other  one — he 
was  quite  a  young  man —spoke  up,  and  says  he, 
u  You  're  right,  marm — it 's  the  Keverend  Mr.  Beadle, 
of  Punkin  Hook." 

"  And  this  is  my  principal  deacon,  Mr.  Snobs," 
says  Mr.  Beadle. 

So  I  told  'em  who  I  was ;  and  after  the  ice  was 
broke,  we  had  considerable  interestin'  conversation  on 
a  rumber  o'  tropics,  espeshealy  on  the  state  o'  religion 
iii  this  section,  particklarly  in  our  respectable  places 
ci  aoode.  They  seem'd  wonderful  grieved  at  the  in- 
ikity  that  prevails  in  our  midst.  Informed  me  that 
they  'd  jest  ben  attendin'  a  convention  to  suppress  the 
railroads  runnin'  a  Sabberdays.  They  never  travel'd 
on 't,  cause  it  dident  lay  by  a  Sabberdays. 

They  seem'd  to  be  very  much  interested  in  me.  I 
show'd  'em  the  poetry  I  'd  ben  writin'  which  they  was 
wonderfully  struck  with.  Brother  Beadle  proposed 
settin'  on  't  to  music,  and  all  on  us  singin'  it  together. 


194      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

The  deacon  th ought 't  would  go  in  "  Away  with  mel- 
laneolly  :"  but  not  bein'  conversant  with  that  tune,  I 
proposed  "  Haddam  " — a  great  favorite  o'  mine.  They 
said  they  'd  amost  forgot  Haddam ;  so  I  sung  one  stan- 
zy  to  show  'em  how  it  went,  and  then  we  all  put  to 
and  sung  it  together.  They  dident  make  out  very 
well  I  dident  think ;  dident  keep  no  time ;  seem'd  to 
be  what  Jeff  Magwire  calls  independent  singers,  that  is, 
each  one  went  intirely  on  his  own  hook,  without  pay- 
in'  no  attention  to  the  rest.  But  no  doubt  they  done 
the  best  they  could,  and  I  hadent  ought  to  find  fanlt. 

The  deacon  requested  me  to  give  him  the  poim,  in 
order  to  have  it  printed  in  the  "  Punkin  Hook  Patriot 
and  Journal."  After  some  hesitation  I  consented. 

At  Pukin  Hook  my  interestin'  feller  travelers  got 
out.  I  regretted  partin',  and  so  did  they.  I  invited 
Brother  Beadle  to  come  to  Scrable  Hill  and  preach 
for  us  sometime.  He  squeezed  my  hand,  and  said  he 
was  delighted  to  have  met  with  such  a  sister  in  Israel 
— he  never  should  forget  the  refreshin'  season  lie  '<1 
enjoyed  in  my  society. 

The  rest  o  the  way  to  Liberty  ville  I  was  *he  only 
passenger ;  but 't  wa'n't  no  great  distance.  Jeot  as  the 
horrizon  was  sinkin'  behind  the  western  skies,  I  arriv 
at  Cousin  Crippinses.  When  I  told  'em  who  I  was 
they  received  me  with  open  arms,  for  they  set  a  great 
deal  by  the  elder.  They  're  olderly  people,  very  weli 
off;  hain't  no  family  but  a  jon  and  daughter,  both 


THE    REV.    MRS.    SNIFFLES    ABKOAD.      196 

married  and  settled.  The  daughter  lives  in  tlie  same 
place,  is  married  to  a  risin'  doctor  by  the  name  o' 
Brings.  In  short,  I  think  I  should  be  quite  contented 
here  if  my  beloved  companion  was  only  with  me. 
But  the  accurnulatin'  shadders  o'  night,  aggravated  by 
the  descendm'  of  my  candle  into  the  socket,  warns  me 
that  it  is  time  to  seek  my  piller,  and  resusticate  ex 
austed  Tiater  by  repose. 

0  for  a  sight  o'  ShaJrack's  laco, 

To  shine  amid  the  gloom ! 
To  mitigate  this  lonesome  place, 

And  shed  a  sweet  perfume. 

WED-NTGHT. — Agin  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  re- 
cord the  occurrences  that  have  occurred  durin'  the  day. 
1  riz  at  an  arly  hour,  and  sallied  forth  into  Cousin 
Crippinses  garding  to  view  the  works  of  natur.  O 
how  it  expends  and  illuminates  the  religious  affections 
to  contemplate  the  wonders  of  creation.  The  pinies 
was  all  in  full  blow,  and  the  yallar  lilies  riz  up  strait 
and  stiff  to  court  the  revigoratin'  atmosphere.  Also 
the  cabbidg^  leaves  was  a  glitterin'  with  dew  drops, 
and  looked  like  ever  so  many  fans  kivered  with  span- 
gles. My  hull  soul  was  evaporatin'  with  delightful 
meditation,  when  cousin  Crippin  blowd  the  horn  for 
breakfast,  and  I  was  obleeged  to  go  in,  though  I  'd  ten 
times  nrier  a  stayed  there  than  to  eat.  Cousin  Crip 
pin  sets  a  tolerable  good  table — makes  fust  rate  coffy> 
though  I  must  say  I  can  beat  her  on  griddle  cakes . 


196  "WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

wonder  whether  she  spunges  'em  over  night :  don't  bo- 
lieve  she  does  ;  can't  have  good  griddle  cakes  without 
spungin'  'em,  accordin'  to  my  way  o'  thinkin'. 

This  afternoon  Cousin  Cr.ppinses  daughter,  Mrs- 
Briggs,  she  't  was  Susan  Ann  Crippin,  called  on  me ; 
ruther  an  or  nary  looking  woman,  but  quite  ginteel 
and  intellectible.  The  Crippinses  had  told  me  so 
much  about  her  that  1  was  prepared  to  be  wonder- 
fully struck  up  with  her.  She  writes  poetry  for  the 
"  Liberty ville  Keflector."  She  invited  me  to  attend  a 
literary  swearee  at  her  sittiwation  to-morrer  evenin'. 
She  says  they  hold  their  swearees  once  a  fortnight,  and 
she  thinks  they  have  a  great  attendancy  to  elevf.te  the 
tone  o'  society,  and  axed  if  we  had  any  such  thing  at 
Scrabble  Hill.  I  told  her  no,  that  they  was  pretty 
high  strung  ther  already,  and  dident  need  nothin'  to 
elevate  their  tone.  She  smiled  at  this  observation, 
and  remarked  that  I  was  rather  sarcastical. 

She  said  they  dident  admit  none  to  membership 
without  they'd  had  something  printed;  but  others 
was  sometimes  invited  to  attend  and  enjoy  the  benefit 
of  the  intellectible  feast.  And  they  'd  be  happy  to 
Bee  me.  I  'd  have  the  pleasure  o'  meetin'  a  number  of 
literary  charicters ;  among  'em  "  Nell  Nox,"  the  cele- 
brated critic,  and  "  Kate  Kenype,"  the  well-known 
and  greatly  admired  advocate  of  women.  She  pre- 
sumed I  'd  heerd  of  'em  both.  "  Nell  Nox"  was  very 
severe,  very  sarcastical,  very,  -indeed.  I  told  her  I  'd 


THE    REV.    MBS.    SNIFFLES    ABROAD.      197 

a  n  amber  o'  poims  printed  mvself.  She  lookt  quite 
surprised,  and  I  confess  I  was  surprisder  yet  that  she 
hadent  seen  or  heerd  o'  my  pieces  in  the  "  Scrabble 
Hill  Luminary."  On  the  hull,  I  was  ruther  disap- 
pointed in  Cousin  Briggs.  But  I  mean  to  go  to  that 
swearee  any  how,  if  nothin'  happens.  But  we  're 
poor  short  sighted  mortals. 

Poor  ignorant  critters  we  I 

To  our  short-sighted  race 
Things  futur  in  life's  mystery 

And  like  enough  never  '11  take  place. 

FRIDAY.- — Last  night  attended  the  literary  swearee 
at  Cousin  Briggses.  and  was  highly  intertained.  Ther 
was  ten  or  a  dozen  present,  and  four  on  'em  had  orig- 
inal productions.  The  most  extinguished  article  was 
the  Widder  Reade's.  She  pigns  her  perductions 
"  Nell  Nox."  She 's  a  very  fleshy  woman,  with  a 
wonderful  small  head.  I  took  particular  notice  of 
ber  'cause  she  's  so  notorious  in  a  literary  point  o1 
yiew,  She  had  a  singlar  lookin'  head  dress  stuck  atop 
of  her  head.  Her  nose  is  awful  long,  and  turns  up 
at  the  eend ;  very  handy,  saves  her  the  trouble  o' 
turnin'  on  't  it  up  every  time  she  reads  a  poor  piece  o' 
poetry,  and  she  don't  seem  to  read  no  other  exceptin1 
Cousin  Briggses.  She  was  drest  in  a  sky  blue  muslin 
dress  with  flounces  almost  up  to  her  waist,  that  made 
her  look  shorter  and  fleshyer  than  she  actilly  was. 
She  had  a  drstful  severe  critisism  on  the  American 


198       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEKS, 

poits,  espeshially  a  certing  long-feller,  as  she  called  him, 
some  tall  indiwidiwal  I  s'pose.  She  cut  him  all  to 
pieces,  declaring  that  he  had  never  writ  a  line  that 
could  be  call  poitry  in  all  his  born  days  She  said 
that  his  Eve  Angeline  was  a  perfectly  nonsensical 
humbug.  I  presume  that 's  some  young  woman  he 's 
ingaged  to.  I  thought  if  she  was  a  mind  to  whale 
away  aginst  the  long-feller  she  might,  but  she  might  a  let 
his  intended  alone.  Cousin  Susan  Ann  axed  me  after- 
wards if  I  dident  think  l^ell  Nox  was  awful  cuttin'. 
She  said  she  shouldent  like  tc  come  under  her  lash. 
She  wondered  what  long-feller  'd  say  when  he  jome  to 
see  that  critisism,  as  he  ondoubtedly  would,  for 
't  would  come  out  in  "  The  Eeflector"  afore  long ;  Nell 
contribbits  to  that  paper.  Thinksme  I  ain't  afeared  oi 
her ;  I  guess  she  '11  change  her  sentiments  when  she 
hears  my  piece.  She  '11  think  ther  is  such  a  thing  as 
poitry  in  Ameriky  then.  For  I  had  in  my  pocket  the 
stanzya  I  writ  in  the  stage — I  'd  brought  'em  along, 
thinkin'  like  enough  I  should  be  called  on  to  read 
somsthiug. 

The  editor  of  "  The  Eeflector  "  was  there ;  he 's  presi- 
dent of  the  swearees.  A  wonderful  small,  jandery- 
lookin'  young  man,  with  blazin'  red  hair,  and  exceed 
inly  pompous,  but  oncommon  talented.  He  had  an 
article  on  the  prospects  of  the  literary  horizon  through- 
out the  world.  His  sentiments  differed  from  Nell 
NToxes  inasmuch  as  he  held  that  Ameriky  was  the 


THE    EKV     MES.    SNIFFLES    ABROAD.      199 

only  country  where  poitry  had  reached  the  hight  of 
its  zenith.  To  prove  it,  he  brought  forrard  Cousin 
Briggses  writins,  said  that  even  Nell  Nox,  the  severest 
critic  of  the  age,  spared  her ;  ther  wa'n't  nothing  in 
her  poitry  that  no  critic  could  git  hold  of.  He  wound 
up,  at  last,  by  glorifyin',  in  a  most  eloquent  manner, 
that  both  o'  these  remarkable  writers  were  contribbit- 
ors  to  his  paper. 

Next  come  Cousin  Susan  Ann  Briggs  with  her  article. 
'T  was  a  very  affectin'  poim  on,  the  death  o'  Deacon 
Paine's  daughter.  I  don't  remember  but  one  stanzy, 
and  that  come  in  at  the  eend  of  every  alternative 
verse.  It  runs  thus : 


Fond  parents  weep  for  me  no  more, 

That  I  no  more  am  given ; 
We  '11  surely  shall  meet  when  life  is  ore, 

High  up  above  in  heaven. 


I  must  ax  Cousin  Briggs  for  a  cop  j  on 't,  it 's  very 
good,  though  I  actilly  think  I  can  oeat  it ;  't  ain't  for 
me  to  say  so,  however.  Her  newspaper  name  is 
"fenellaFitzallen." 

The  last  indiwidiwal  that  read  was  an  olderly  young 
woman,  named  Samanthy  Hocum,  a  wonderful  tall, 
slab-sided,  coarse  lookin'  critter.  Her  hair  looked 
singular,  't  was  all  raked  back  off  her  forrard,  and 
made  her  phizmahogany  look  amazin'  broad  and 
brazen.  She  certainly  was  oncommon  odd  and  ornary 
lookin'.  Had  on  a  red  calico  dress,  and  a  queer  kind 


200       WIDOW  3£DOTT  PAPERS. 

of  a  bobtailed  little  thing,  made  o'  green  silk,  with 
brass  buttons  down  it.  Take  her  altogether,  *hH  waff 
about  as  singular  a  critter  in  her  appearance  as  I'  v*s 
seen  in  some  time.  But  she 's  oncommon  smart.  She 
had  an  article  on  the  subject  o'  "  Woman's  Sights." 
'T  was  a  powerful  perduction.  She  hiid  that  tae  mea 
hadent  no  bizness  to  monopolize  every  thing,  arid 
trammil  the  female  sect.  I  thought  to  myself  they 
hadent  showed  no  great  disposition  to  trammil  her  so 
far.  She  writes  for  the  "Pidgin  Pint  Record  of 
Genius,"  and  signs  Kate  Kenype. 

Them  was  all  the  articles  that  was  read  last  night, 
though  ther  was  several  more  literary  indiwidiwals 
ther.  A  fat,  pudden-faced  young  man  that  writes 
poetry  for  the  "Newville  Star  and  Trumpet,"  and 
signs  "  Phil  Philpotts."  And  then  ther  was  a  ruther 
good  lookin'  young  woman  that  writes  the  amusin' 
articles  for  the  same  paper,  and  signs  'em  "Betsy  But- 
tertub,"  and  some  more,  but  I  disremember  their  re*»"9- 
paper  names. 

After  the  readin'  was  over,  the  company  diverted 
the  time  till  the  refreshments  come  in  to  walkin'  round 
and  round  through  the  foldin'  doors  to  the  hall,  and 
then  from  the  hall  through  the  foldin'  doors  agin,  as 
if  ther  lives  depended  on  't.  The  editor,  he  walked 
with  Nell  Nox,  and  Phil  Philpotts  with  Betsy  But- 
tertub,  and  Kate  Kenype,  she  stramanaded  round  alone, 
wonderful  independent.  I  sot  on  the  sofy  and  talked 


THE    REV.    MRS      SKIFFLES    ABFOAD.      201 

Co  the  Briggses  till  I  got  as  dizzy  as  a  fool,  seem'  'em 
go  round  and  round.  I  wanted  to  read  my  poim,  and 
I  seed  plainly  that  Cousin  Susan  Ann  dident  mean  to 
ax  me  to  (shouldent  wonder  if  she  was  a  little  jealous). 
So  I  determined  I  would  read  it  whether  or  no ;  so 
when  the  company  sot  down  tc  take  refreshment,  I 
?£  5aks  up  and  says,  that  seein'  I  'd  ben  so  eddified 
myself,  I  thought  I  'd  ought  to  contribute  my  share  to 
the  evenin's  intertainment;  and  then  without  furder 
ado,  I  takes  out  my  piece  and  reads  it.  'T  was  very 
much  admired.  Nell  Nox  declared  't  was  what  she 
called  poitry,  and  the  editor  requested  a  coppy  on 't  to 
put  in  "  The  Eeflector.'  I  gi'n  it  tew  him.  It  dident 
strike  me  till  after  I  got  hum  that  I  'd  gi'n  it  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Beadle,  to  be  printed  in  the  "  Punkin 
flook  Patriot  and  Journal."  So  I  s'pose  the  tew 
paper?  '11  be  accusin'  one  another  o'  stealin'  on  ''t,  and 
ihere  '11  be  a  reglar  newspaper  quarril  about  it ;  and 
I  shall  be  drawn  into  public  notice  in  2  manner  very 
imbarrassin'  to  my  retirin'  disposition.  But  I  can't 
h^'p  it.  "We  literary  characters  must  expect  to  be 
subjected  to  a  great  many  more  onpleasant  things  than 
falls  o  the  lot  o'  privit  indiwidiwals — it 's  the  fate  o' 
genius. 

Don't  know  but  what  I  'd  try  git  up  a  Literary 

Swearee  Society  in  Scrabble  Hill,  if  I  dident  s'pose 

Sally  Hugle  ;d  make  herself  so  conspickiwous  in  it 

But  I  know  she  would.     She 's  so  awful  vain,  and 

9* 


202       WIDOW  ^EDOTT  PAPERS. 

thinks  herself  such  an  amazin'  poitess,  though  as  to 
that,  every  body  knows  she  can't  write  I  fed  kinder 
sorry  for  her,  she  mistakes  her  calling  so.  I  should 
lament  to  have  her  make  such  a  lain n'  stock  of  herself 
as  she  would  if  ther  was  any  literary  dewins  there. 

SATURDAY  EVENING. — Larnt  to-day,  through  "Dr. 
Briggs,  and  by  a  long  chain  o'  circumstances  tew  nu- 
merous to  be  detailed  here,  that  the  indiwidi  \vals  that 
past  themselves  off  for  a  clargyman  and  deacon  in  the 
stage,  was  nothing  but  a  couple  of  hoss  dealers  from 
Varmount,  with  no  more  sense  o'  religion  than  the 
animals  they  trade  in.  O,  't  is  mellancoly !  I  feel  to 
lament  that  human  natur  should  be  sunk  to  such  a 
tumble  a  pitch  as  to  deceave  a  reverend  lady  so  aw- 
fully. I  pitty  the  poor  degraded,  deluded  critters 
from  the  bottom  o'  my  heart.  I  hope  they  may 
have  grace  and  space  to  repent.  To  think  o'  iny  bein' 
so  took  in!  Well,  they '11  have  it  to  arswer  for. 
that 's  a  comfort.  But  1  hope  they  '11  be  lei  to  sec 
ther  sinfulness  afore  it 's  tew  late.  To  think  o'  my 
lettin'  'em  have  my  poitry  tew,  that  galls  me.  I  wish 
they  'd  steal  some  bosses  and  be  took  up  and  sent  to 
the  states  prison,  the  miserable  wre^hes— -but  I  foi  • 
give  'em-  I  aHays  forgive — I  never  lay  up  nothing 
aginst  nobody — the  consarnid  critters  I 

To-morrer  '11  be  Sunday — intend  to  go  to  meetin 
if  I  can  command  mv  feelins  sufficient  But  on  doubt- 


THE    EEV.    MBS.    SNIFFLES    ABROAD.      203 

edly  I  shall  be  all  day  a  counterastin'  the  preacher 
with  my  companion,  and  so  sha'n't  enjoy  my  mind, 
ard  have  as  refreshin'  a  season  as  I  otherways  should. 

Agin  tlie  sacred  day 

Of  sacred  re*t  has  come, 
And  to  my  inmost  feelins  brings 

My  Shadrack's  image  hum. 

I  d  ruther  spend  the  day 

With  him  than  where  I  am, 
A  hearin'  of  him  preach  and  pray, 

And  givin'  oat  the  pslam. 


XX. 

firs.  SniffUs  at  font. 


'  T  MUST  show  ye  my  daggertype,  sister  Mag  wire, 
that  I  had  took  while  I  was  gone." 

"  I  want  to  know  if  you  '  ve  got  one  o'  them  things  I 
I  've  heerd  about  'em,  and  had  a  great  curiosity  to  see 
'em.  Pray  how  do  they  take  'em  ?" 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  ye.  Sal  !  Sal  Blake,  come  in  here  ! 
Why  don't  ye  never  start  some  time  or  other  when  I 
call  ye  ?  You  go  up  stairs  to  my  chamber,  and  fetch 
here  that  thing  kivered  with  morocker,  that  lies  on 
the  stand.  Step  quick,  you  —  and  don't  ye  be  gone 
longer  'n  till  next  day  after  to  morrer,  if  ye  can  help 
it.  And  here  !  don't  you  open  it  —  you  fetch  it  right 
straight  along  down  —  d'  ye  hear.  That  young  one 
does  try  my  patience  the  worst  way  —  she's  the  slowest 
o'  all  created  critters.  I  don't  b'leve  it  done  her  any 
good  stay  in'  with  you  while  we  was  gone.  I  wish 
the  elder  'd  a  sent  her  to  the  Widder  Grimeses  —  I 
guess  she  'd  a  made  her  fly  round.  I  don't  s'pose  you 
trained  her  a  mite." 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  see  no  occasion  for  it.     She  seemed 


THE    EEV   MES,    SNIFFLES    AT    HOME.      205 

willm'  enough  to  dew  without  driving  And  besides, 
I  don't  approve  o'  workin'  half-grown  gals  so  hard  as 
some  folks  dew.  It  stunts  'em.  and  injures  their  con- 
stitutions." 

"  I  ceclare,  if  that  ain't  a  bright  idee !  jist  as  if— 
As  true  as  natur,  there  she  comes !  What 's  got  into 
ye,  Sal,  to  make  ye  so  spry  all  of  a  sudding  ?  I  guess 
)  3  ssen  a  ghost  on  the  stairway,  did  n't  ye  ?  There 
Sister  Magwire,  isn't  that  strikin'  ?  Sal,  you  huzzy  I 
There  's  ysr  manners  ?  don't  ye  know  no  better  'n  to 
be  a  gawpin'  over  Miss  Magwire's  shoulders  ?  go  into 
the  kitchin — budge  !" 

"  Why  Sister  Sniffles,  dew  let  the  poor  child  look 
at  it — what  harm  '11  it  dew  ?" 

"  Sister  Magwire,  I  wish  you  would  n't  interfere  in 
my  domestic  arrangements — Sal,  you  put  for  the 
kitchin,  and  finish  pearin'  them  apples  and  when 
ve  Ve  got  'em  done,  take  hold  and  scour  them  pans — 
and  don't  ye  stop  to  look  out  o'  the  winder — and  as 
soon  a?  ye  git  done  scourin'  the  pans,  come  here,  and 
I  '11  tell  ye  what  to  do  next.  I  rather  guess  I  '11  iarn 
that  critter  to  know  her  place,  afore  I  Ve  ben  here 
much  longer.  She  hain't  never  had  no  instruction 
^bout  what  belongs  to  her  sittiwation,  at  all." 

"  Poor  thing  I  don't  blame  her,  I  'm  sure.  You 
kixow,  Miss  Sniffles,  the  elder's  first  wife,  brought  her 
up  as  it  she  was  her  own  daughter." 

"  Well,  I  mean  to  show  her  the  difference  betwixt 


206       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

genteel  folks  and  them  that 's  born  to  be  underlin'a 
But  ain't  that  a  wonderful  strikin'  picter?" 

"  It  is,  actilly ;  looks  as  nat'ral  as  life — especially 
the  elder's  specs  and  your  cap." 

"  I  had  a  couple  more  just  like  it  took  at  the  same 
time :  one  for  Melissy,  and  t'  other  for  Sam  Fender- 
grasses  wife.  I  think  the  position's  very  interestin' 
—me  a  leanin'  on  the  elder's  shoulder,  and  hold  in' 
hold  o'  his  hand." 

"  They  must  cost  a  good  deal — don't  see  how  you 
could  afford  it." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  ye  how  't  was — 't  was  a  curus  cir- 
cumstance. At  Miss  Pendergrasses  party — see, 'I 
hain't  told  ye  about  her  makin'  a  party  for  us,  I  guess ; 
wall,  she  did,  and  it  was  a  reglar  kind  o'  a  would-if- 
ye-could  consarn,  jist  such  as  she  always  makes  out 
when  she  tries  to  cut  a  spludge.  But  Sam's  wife 
meant  well  enough.  And  on  the  hull 't  was  quite 
pleasant.  Most  o'  my  old  acquaintances  was  there : 
Major  Coon  and  his  wife,  pompious  as  ever;  Mr. 
Crane  and  his  wife — she 't  was  Kesier  Winkle.  She 
don't  paint  her  face  no  more  now  her  market 's  made 
— looks  wonderful  humbly.  And  there  was  old  Daw- 
son  and  his  wife — Widder  Jinkins,  ye  know — she 
't  was  Poll  Bingham.  She  and  Miss  Coon  had  their 
heads  together  half  the  evenin',  a  whisperin'  about 
me  and  the  elder.  But  I  did  n't  care— I  tell  ye,  I  hild 
my  head  as  high  as  any  on  'em,  if  not  a  lectle  grain 


THE    REV.    MBS.    SNIFFLES   AT    HOME.     207 

highar.  Ther  was  a  great  deal  o'  notice  took  o'  me 
and  the  elder.  He  talked  up  and  made  considerable 
o'  a  sensation.  I  told  him  aforehand  to  do  his  pur- 
ijest,  for  I  wanted  old  Dawson's  wife  to  see 't  I  'd  got 
a  pardner  ruther  above  a  common  plow-jogger,  such 
as  hern  is.  And  I  gu-ess  she  felt  it  some,  for  she 
looked  nighty  spiteful.  While  the  elder  was  a  talkin', 
she  kept  a  hunchin  Miss  Ooon,  and  grinnin'.  Sam 
Pendergrasses  wife  said  she  obsarved  to  her  that  she 
should  think  I'd  be  in  a  constant  state  o'  consarn 
about  the  elder,  for  fear  he  'd  git  choaked  with  a  big 
word  stickin'  in  his  throat.  Miss  Penclergrass  said 
she  would  n't  care  a  cent  about  it,  if  she  was  me ;  for 
't  was  plain  enough  't  wa'n't  nothin'  but  envy  because 
her  husband  could  n't  talk  so." 

:t  But  you  was  gwine  to  tell  about  them  dagger- 
types.'' 

"  0  yes.  Well,  Sam  Pendergrasses  wife  axed  Miss 
Coon  to  play  on  the  planner.  They  Ve  got  a  pianner 
for  AT'n  Elizy — piece  o'  extravagance  in  my  opinion 
• — don't  see  how  Sam  Pendergrass  can  afford  such 
things — besides,  I  don't  b'leve  Ann  Elizy  '11  ever 
make  much  of  a  musicianer,  for  she  can't  play  but  a 
few  tunes  yit,  and  she  's  ben  a  takin'  lessons  amost 
three  months  I  spent  the  day  there  one  day,  and 
she  thumpt  away  on  the  consarnid  thing  half  the  time. 
'T  was  enough  to  split  a  body's  skull  open.  Well, 
Miss  Co  >n  she  sot  down  to  the  pianner — and  o  al! 


208  WIDOW     BE DOT T    PAPERS. 

things!  I  wish  you  could  a  ben  there!  If 't  waVt 
JcilUn',  then  no  matter.  She  throw  'd  back  hei  head, 
and  she  rolled  up  her  eyes,  and  she  thrum  'd  it  off 
,  with  the  tips  o'  her  fingers.  But  good  gracious !  her 
singin' !  you  'd  a  gin  up,  I  know,  if  you  'd  a  heerd  It ! 
The  way  she  squawked  it  out  was  a  caution  to  old 
gates  on  a  windy  day !  See,  what  was  it  she  sung  ? 
O,  I  remember — a  dretful  nonsensical  thing,  that  kept 
a  sayin'  every  little  while  'Jimmeni  fondly  thine 
own.'  I  was  perfectly  dizgusted." 

"  But  what  has  all  that  to  dew  with  the  dagger- 
types  ?" 

"  Well,  I  was  a  gwine  to  tell — why  can't  ye  have 
patience  ?  I  was  settin'  right  by  the  pianner  when 
she  sung,  and  I  obsarved  that  she  had  on  a  wonderful 
curus  buzzom-pin.  So,  after  she'd  got  done  her 
music,  and  gone  back  t'  other  side  o'  the  room,  I  says 
to  Melissy,  says  I,  what  a  sing'lar  lookin'  buzzum-pin 
Miss  Coon's  got- on — wonder  what  it's  made  of 
'  Why,  mar,'  says  she,  '  it 's  a  daggertype  o'  the  Major 
—did  n't  you  never  see  a  daggertype?"  *  No,'  says  I, 
but  I  Ve  heerd  o'  'em.'  So  Melissy  she  got  right  up, 
and  went  and  axed  Miss  Coon  if  she  woulr1  n't  be 
kind  enough  to  let  mar  see  her  pin.  I  was  awiul  mad 
at  Melissy — did  n't  want  that  stuck  up  critter  to  know 't 
I  noticed  her  pin — so  I  speaks  up,  and  I  says, '  T  want 
ye  to  understand,  Miss  Coon,  that  I  didn't  request 
Misa  Smith  to  ax  ye  to  show  me  yer  pin.'  '  0,  law,' 


THE    REV,    MBS.    SNIFFLES    AT    HOME      209 

says  she.  '  you.  Ve  perfectly  welcome  to  see  it.'  So  she 
onfastened  it,  and  handed  it  to  Melissy,  mighty  graci 
ons  She 's  always  wonderful  polite  to  Melissy — don't 
knew,.  I  m  sure,  what's  the  reason  she  treats  her  so 
much  better  5n  ever  she  did  me;  but  I  s'pose  ther 
ain't  nothin'  about  her  to  be  jealous  of.  Well,  Melissy 
she  fetched  it  G\  er,  and  I  could  n't  help  lookin'  at  it ; 
and  sure  enough  there  was  the  major,  nat'ral.  as  life, 
with  all  his  trarin'  regimentals  on — 't  was  complete. 
Miss  Coon  axed  me  how  I  liked  it.  'T  ain't  wonderful 
hansome,'  says  I,  'but  it  looks  full  as  well  as  the 
major.'  Miss  Coon  turned  rather  red,  and  't  was  plain 
to  be  seen  she  felt  cut  up.  Melissy — silly  thing — she 
kind  o'  wanted  to  plaster  over  what  I  'd  said,  so  she 
praised  it  up  to  the  skies — said  she  never  see  any 
thing  sc  perfect — and  axed  Miss  Coon  where  't  was 
took.  Miss  Coon  said  the  major  had  it  took  in 
'orambletowii  a  few  days  afore.  Ther  was  a  gentleman 
stayir/  tLere  a  few  weeks,  that  done  'em  uncommon 
correct.  'C,  mar,'  says  Melissy,  'I  heerd  the  eldei 
say  he  meant  to  go  home  by  the  way  o'  Grambletown 
-  -  yp-hy  can't  you  stop  and  have  yourn  and  the  elder's 
toon  forme?  Jubiter's  got  a  cousin  livin' there — a 
youn^  man  named  Jo  Baker,  and  he 's  a  comin'  out 
here  in  a  few  weeks.  You  can  leave  'em  with  him  to 
fetch.'  '  Wei]  says  I,  '  I  '11  see  about  it.'  After  that, 
Meli ssy  she  teazed  us  till  we  promise  to  git  'em  for 
Usr.  She  concluded  she  'd  like  to  have  us  represented 


210      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

together  in  one  picter.  "We  'd  maae  our  calculations 
to  stop  in  Gambletown  a  day  or  tew  on  our  way  hum 
The  elder  was  some  acquainted  wich  Elder  Cumstork, 
the  minister  there — had  met  him  at  the  meetin'  of  tho 
Baptist  Presbytery.  We  left  Wiggletown  a  Monday, 
went  round  by  Pidgin  Pint,  and  stopped  there  to- 
ward night.  The  elder  inquired  where  the  Baptist 
minister  lived,  and  we  went  there.  We  had  n't  never 
heerd  o'  him  afore — but 't  was  better  to  go  there  chan 
to  have  a  tavern  bill  to  pay.  His  name  was  Elder 
Hawley.  The  elder  he  introduced  himself  as  the 
Rev.  Elder  Sniffles,  from  Scrabble  Hill,  and  his  con- 
sort. Well,  brother  Hawley  invited  us  in  and  intro- 
duced us  to  his  wife.  She  was  a  sick  lookin'  woman, 
with  a  hull  raft  o'  young  ones  squallin'  round  her. 
'T  wa'n't  very  pleasant  there,  they  did  n't  seem  to  be  in 
wonderful  good  circumstances.  But  they  treated  us 
very  polite,  and  we  staid  till  Thursday,  for  Brother 
Hawley  was  a  holdin'  a  protracted  meetin',  and  invited 
the  elder  to  stay  awhile  and  assist.  A  Thursday  we 
come  on  to  Gambletown,  got  there  in  the  afternoon. 
Elder  Cumstork  was  very  glad  to  see  us,  and  so  was 
his  wife.  I  was  quite  surprised  when  I  seen  her,  for 
I  used  to  know  her  some.  Her  name  was  Mary 
Cushman.  She  used  to  keep  school  in  Wiggletown 
when  Melissy  was  a  little  gal.  I  sent  her  to  Miss 
Cushman 's  school.  Melissy  liked  her  very  well,  but 
I  never  thought  much  o'  her.  She  was  kind  o'  proud 


THE   REV.    MBS.   SNIFFLES  AT  HOME.      211 

— could  n't  git  acquainted  with  her.  She  would  n't 
talk  about  noLody.  She  had  quite  a  quarrel  with 
the  Widder  Jinkins  about  Alviry.  Miss  Jinkins  took 
\lviry  out  o'  school.  There  was  a  great  deal  said 
about  it.  Every  body  was  a  takin'  sides.  Miss  Jinkins 
went  all  around  blazin'  away  against  Miss  Cushman. 
But  I  could  n't  hear  o'  Miss  Cushman's  saying  any 
thing,  though  I  s'pose  Miss  Jinkins  did  abuse  her 
shamefully.  Well,  I  invited  her  to  drink  tea  at  our 
house  a  purpose  to  see  if  she  would  n't  have  some- 
thing to  say  about  it,  but  she  never  opened  her  head. 
I  tried  my  best  to  draw  her  out — expressed  my  opin- 
ion o'  the  Widder  Jinkins  without  resarve.  But  still 
the  provokin'  critter  never  said  a  syllable  about  the 
matter.  I  tell  you  't  was  the  last  time  I  axed  her  there 
to  tea.  I  was  disgusted  with  her.  I  took  quite  a  dis- 
like to  her,  and  when  she  went  away  I  did  n't  care 
whether  I  ever  heerd  from  her  agin  or  not.  And  I 
had  n't  heerd  since — did  n't  know  what  had  become  o' 
her.  But  I  know'd  her  the  minnit  I  clapped  my 
eyes  on  her  in  Gambletown,  for  she  's  ruther  a  singu- 
lar lookin'  woman.  '  Law  me,'  says  I,  '  Mary  Cush- 
man, I  want  to  know  if  that 's  you?'  'Jest  so,'  says 
sne,  '  but  I  can't  for  the  life  o'  me  tell  who  you  are.' 
1  The  dear  me,'  say  I,  '  why  I  'm  the  Eeverend  Misa 
Sniffles,  she  't  was  Widder  Bedott,  o'  Wigglctown.' 
Sure  enough,'  says  she,  '  I  wonder  I  did  n't  know  you, 
but  I  've  seen  so  many  folks  since  I  was  there,  it 


212  WIDOW    BEDOTT    I'APERS. 

ruther  confuses  me  sometimes.1  I  thought 't  wns  a 
pietty  poor  excuse  for  fogettin'  me,  but  I  passed  it  off. 
She  was  wonderful  polite  to  us.  They'd  ben  to 
dinner,  but  she  went  and  got  dinner  for  us  right  off. 
Sha  don't  keep  no  help,  does  all  her  own  work,  and  T 
must  say  she  keeps  the  house  in  very  nice  order,  and 
c  :>oks  pretty  well  considerin'  she  used  to  be  a  school 
marm ;  school  teachers  don't  ginerally  make  no  great 
o'  housekeeper's.  Her  husband  seemed  to  be  wonder- 
ful proud  o'  her;  told  how  well  she  got  along,  and 
what  a  good  manager  she  was,  and  all  that.  But  I 
thought  I  'd  let  'em  know  't  I  had  n't  no  great  opinion 
o'  her  housekeepin'.  She  sot  on  a  leg  o'  biled  muttoa 
for  us,  and  some  vegetables  and  bread  and  butter. 
So  when  we  sot  down  to  the  table  I  declined  takin' 
aoy  o'  the  meat.  Miss  Cumstork  axed  me  if  I  wa'n'l 
hungry.  '  Yes,'  says  I,  '  but  I  don't  like  biled  vittals, 
ain't  used  to  'em.'  She  felt  awful  bad,  and  went  and 
rec^ht  on  some  cold  roast  beef.  But  I  told  her  she 
needn't  a  troubled  herself,  for  I  couldn't  eat  cold 
meat.  So  she  said  she  'd  cut  off  some  slices  and  heat 
'em  in  a  stew-pan.  I  begged  o'  her  not  to  dew  it,  £>r  in 
my  opinion  warmed  up  vittals  wa'n't  fit  to  eat  'I'll 
make  out  with  a  potater,'  sayc  I,  '  and  a  piece  :>'  bread.1 
At  last  she  gin  up  tryin'  to  make  me  take  any  thm' 
else.  But  the  elder  he  eat  wonderful  hearty.  I  kepi; 
a  winldn'  at  him  to  hold  up,  bat  he  would  n't  take 
the  hint  ^Jlerward  she  brought  on  a  rice  puddin*, 


THE    REV.    MBS.    SNIFFLES   AT    HOME.    213 

and  the  elder  iet  into  't  in  arnest.  '  I  eat  some  tew,  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  awful  hungry,  but  did  n't 
want  'em  to  think  I  eat  it  because  't  was  good,  so,  I 
says,  says  I,  '  rice  puddin'  's  terrible  plain ;  but  it  'a 
better  !n  nothin',  and  I  s'pose  I  shall  be  sick  if  I  don't 
eat  sornethinV  When  we  was  alone  the  elder  un- 
dertook to  cake  me  to  do  about  findin'  fault  with  the 
vittais,  but  I  told  him  he  need  n't  be  consarned,  for  I 
meant  to  let  the  Cumstorks  see  't  I  know'd  what  was 
what,  though  I  had  n't  been  a  school-marm.  And  I 
made  it  a  pint  to  turn  up  my  nose  at  every  thing  in 
the  house  all  the  time  I  was  there ;  and  I  tell  ye,  I 
wouldn't  lelp  laughin'  in  my  sleeve  to  see  how  on- 
comfortable  it  made  'em  feel.  Well,  we  stayed  tiE 
the  next  Monday,  and  the  elder  he  preached  for 
brother  Cumstork.  The  Gambletown  folks  was  very 
much  taken  with  him,  and  with  me  tew,  all  the  most 
extinguished  indiwiddiwals  in  the  place  called  on  me. 
I  see  that  they  seemed  to  think  Miss  Cumstork  was  an 
amazin'  smart,  intellectible  woman,  but  whenever  I  got 
a  chance  I  let  'em  know 't  /did  n't  think  so,  nor  the  Wig- 
gletown  folks  did  n't  think  so  nother.  I  ruther  guess  the 
Cnmstorks  '11  have  to  draw  in  their  horns  after  this — " 
"  Well,  now,  Sister  Bedott — Sister  Sniffles  I  mean— 
I  want  to  know  if  you  think  't  was  Christianlike  to 
go  there  and  abuse  that  poor  woman  in  her  own 
house,  and  talk  aginst  her  to  her  own  congregation 
into  the  bargain,  when,  accordin'  to  yer  own  story. 


214      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

she  done  all  she  could  to  make  yer  visit  pleasant? 
I  'd  be  asliamed  to  tell  on  't  if  I  'd  acted  so  ridiciJoTrss 
I  don't  see  what  yer  object  was  cuttin'  uu  so." 

"  I  tell  ye  I  wanted  to  show  'em  't  1  kncw'd  what 
was  what." 

"Well,  I  guess  ye  show'd'em  one  thing  pretty  plain 
— that  ye  dident  know  what  politeness  was." 

"  I  guess,  Sister  Magwire,  't  I  know  what  politeness 
is  as  well  as  you  dew.  It  looks  well  for  yoi*  co  be  a,1 
tellin'  me  what 's  right  and  what 's  wrong,  when  my 
first  pardner  was  a  deacon  and  jny  present  one 's  a 
minister — when  I  want  your  advice  I'll  ax  for  it." 

"  "Well,  well,  I  want  to  hear  about  them  daggertypes 
— how  they  make  'em,  and  all  in  relation  tew  it.  It 's 
a  wonderful  art — beats  all  I  ever  heerd  of.  Eow  is  it 
th3y  take  'em  in  so  little  while  ?" 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  ye.  Ther  's  a  pole  stuck  up  in  the 
middle  o'  the  floor,  with  a  machine  atop  on 't— kind  of 
an  uplong  shaped  consarn — looks  for  all  the  world 
like  the  old  cannon  they  haul  out  on  Independence 
and  training  day?  about  so  wide  and  so  long.  In  the 
little  eend  on  't  ther  's  a  hole,  and  inco  chat  hole  the 
daggerotyper  slips  the  steel  plate  that  the  picter  's  to 
be  made  on.,  and  kivers  it  up.  Then  ye  have  to  set 
down  in  a  cheer  about  as.  fur  from  the  machine  as 
from  here  to  that  stove,  on  an  average.  Then  he  fast- 
ens yer  head  in  an  iron  consarn  to  keet>  it  still  -for 
ye  've  got  :o  set  as  onmovable  as  a  wax- work,  and  as 


THE    BEV.    MBS.    SNIFFLES    AT    HOME.     216 

stiff  as  stilly ards,  or  the  picter  '11  be  spiled.  Then  yo 
must  look  strait  at  the  machine  that  stans  there  a  pint 
in'  right  at  yer  face — " 

"  Grammany  !  I  should  think  't  would  be  an  awfuJ 
sittiwation.  I  should  be  frightend  out  o'  my  wits." 

"  Lawful  sakes !  I  wa'n't  a  bit  skairt.  Well,  ther  's 
a  winder  right  aside  o'  ye,  and  a  white  sheet  fastened  up 
all  round  ye,  and  when  ye  Ve  got  fixt,  he  takes  the  kiv- 
er  off  o'  the  machine,  and  the  light  reflects  into  the  win- 
der and  onto  yei  face,  and  from  yer  face  it  refragerates 
onto  the  steel  plate,  and  executes  the  picter  in  a  minit." 

"  Well,  I  don't  understand  now  a  bit  better  'n  I  did 
afore." 

"  I  never !  how  dumb  you  be  ?  it 's  as  clear  as  day 
light  to  me.  I  seen  right  through  it  at  fist." 

"  Well,  what  do  they  call  them  daggertypes  for  ?" 

"  O,  I  s'posc  that 's  on  account  o'  the  dagger  they 
use  to  polish  off  the  plates  aforehand.  Seems  to  me 
that  was  whav  Jabe  said." 

"Jabewhc?" 

"  Why  Jabe  Clark— he  took  that  picter." 

"You  don't!" 

"  It  's  a  euros  circumstance.  I  '11  tell  yt-  how  it 
happened.  I  'd  no  more  idee  o'  the  daggertyper  bein' 
Tabe  Clark  than  nothing  in  the  world.  Nobody  did- 
ent  know  it.  He  was  there  in  Gambletown  cuttin'  a 
mighty  swell  with,  his  daggertypes — makin'  money 
like  dirt.  Had  his  gallery  over  Smith's  store — altered 


216      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

his  name — had  a  great  flarin'  sign  stuck  up  over  his 
door  that  had  on 't,  '  Mr.  Augustus  Montgomery, 
Daggertyper.'  Well,  we  went  in  there  a  Friday  to 
look  at  his  picturs,  and  see  what  he  taxed  for  takin' 
'em — thought  mabby  he  'd  strike  off  some  on  account 
of  our  belongin'  to  the  clargy.  Brother  Cumstork 
went  with  us  and  introduced  us ;  and  Mr.  Montgom- 
ery was  wonderful  polite — showed  all  his  picters :  told 
us  all  about  'em  tew — the  way  he  took  'em  and  so  on; 
though  most  on  'em  was  his  own  likenesses.  There 
was  Mr.  Montgomery  a  readin' — Mr.  Montgomery  a 
smokin' — Mr.  Montgomery  a  shavin'i — and  ever  so 
many  more.  I  forgit  what  they  was  all  a  dewin'. 
All  the  time  I  kept  a  thinkin'  I  'd  seen  the  man  afore ; 
but  to  save  my  life  I  couldent  remember  when  nor 
where.  He  looked  kind  o'  natral  some  how,  and  his 
voice  sounded  jest  as  if  I  'd  heerd  it  afore.  But  then 
he  lookt  so  different,  no  wonder  I  dident  know  him  at 
first.  He  'd  cut  off  his  whiskers  all,  only  a  bunch  on 
the  tip  of  his  chin  ;  and  he  'd  got  on  spectacles  though 
I  noticed  he  looked  over  the  tops  of 'em.  He  had  a 
wig,  tew,  considerable  blacker 'n  his  own  hair.  The 
elder  and  me  we  stood  up  together  and  axed  him  if 
he  thought  we  'd  take  well.  He  looked  at  us  a  min- 
utes  and  then  says  h'e,  '  Jingo  I  you  M  make  an  admy- 
rable  picter.'  Then  it  popped  right  into  my  head 
who  't  was  I  was  on  the  pint  o'  screamm  *ight  out 
— but  i  happened  to  think  and  hild  my  tongue,  for 


THE    REV.    MRS.    SNIFFLES    AT    HOME.     217 

tb'nks  me,  I  '11  come  up  with  ye  old  feller  for  that 
'  grody  fiewry '  afore  I  quit  ye.  So  I  told  him  we  'd 
set  for  jur  picters ;  and  he  fixed  the  plate  and  the  ma- 
chine and  arranged  us  in  our  cheers  the  way  we 
wanted  uC  be  represented — and  then  he  took  us.  But 
toe  first  r.ne  wa'n't  good.  The  Elder  he  hysted  his 
eyebrows — it 's  a  trick  o'  hisen — and  so  his  pictur  had 
as  much  as  a  dosen  pair  of  eyes.  'T  was  ruther  big- 
ger 'n  I  wanted  it  tew.  I  axed  him  if  he  couldent 
make  one  ruther  smaller.  He  said,  '  O  yes,  he  had  a 
process  1y  which  he  could  manage  'em  down  to  any 
size.'  Sc  we  sot  agin,  a  little  furder  off  from  the  ma- 
chine, and  that  time  't  was  good.  I  was  so  much 
pleased  with  it,  I  told  him  I  'd  have  another  one  took 
for  Miss  Sam  Pendergrass,  a  friend  o'  mine.  The  el- 
der looked  ruther  surprized,  but  he  dident  say  noth- 
ing. Well,  he  got  another  one  foil  as  good  as  the 
first ;  and  I  liked  it  so  well,  I  concluded  to  have  an- 
other one  to  fetch  home  with  me.  The  elder  opened 
his  eyes  and  looked  surpriseder  'n  ever ;  but  I  gin  him 
a  look,  and  he  hild  his  tongue.  After  he  'd  finished 
'em  all  up,  and  got  'em  all  sot  in  the  cases,  says  I, 
'Well,  now,  Mr.  Montgomery,  what  d'  ye  tax?' 
'Well,'  says  he,  'my  reglar  price  for  a  double  picter 
is  tew  dollars ;  but  I  always  want  to  dew  the  fair 
thing  by  the  clargy — ginerally  make  a  pint  to  throw 
off  some  for  them.  So  in  your  case  I  wont  tax  but 
five  dollars  for  the  hull.'  As  good  luck  would  have 
10 


"218  WIDOW    BED 0  IT    PAPEES. 

it,  I  happened  to  have  that  ar  hnzzom-pin  he  sold  me 
eider  in  my  work-pocket.  It  had  ben  there  ever 
since  the  Elder  first  showed  it  to  me.  So  I  takes  it 
out  and  holds  it  up  afore  him.  'T  was  as  green  as 
grass,  and  any  body  could  see  in  a  minit  that  't  was? 
brass.  '  There,'  says  I,  '  that 's  a  buzzum-pin  that  my 
husband  bought  of  a  pedlar  and  paid  him  fiye  dollars 
for  it.  He  was  a  wonderful  pious  pedlar — h?,d  jest  ex 
perienced  religion — and  of  course  he  wouldent  take 
the  advantage  of  a  minister  o'  the  Gospel ,  and  he 
said  't  was  woth  double  the  money  he  caxed ;  but 
seein'  he  was  tradin'  with  the  clargy,  he  wouldenl 
charge  but  half-price.  To  be  sure,  it  dident  look  so 
green  then  as  it  does  now — the  greenness  was  princi- 
pally on  husband's  side.  Now  I  'm  willin'  to  dew  as 
well  by  you  as  Jabe  Clark  done  by  my  husband.  I  '11 
let  ye  have  this  pin  to  pay  for  the  picters,  and  won't 
ax  no  boot.'  Then  I  gin  him  a  knowin'  look. 

I  wish  you  could  a  seen  the  critter.  I  tell  ye  't  was 
rich,  as  Jeff  says.  He  turned  pale,  and  then  he 
turned  red,  and  looked  as  if  he  was  completely 
stumped.  The  elder  he  begun  to  ham  and  haw  as  if 
he  was  a  gwine  to  say  something.  But  I  looked  at 
him  in  a  way  that  made  him  think  't  wa'n't  wotb 
while.  Elder  Cumstork  tew  looked  perfectly  as 
tonished.  He  examined  the  pin,  and  says  he,  "  Why 
Sister  Sniffles,  this  ere 's  brass  and  no  mistake- -that 
pedlar  cheated  brother  Sniffles  most  wickedly.'' 


THE    BEV.    MBS.    SNIFFLES   AT    HOME       219 

''What!"  says  I,  "you  don't  s'pose  that  a  pedlar 
that  had  experienced  religion  at  a  protracted  meeting 
and  sold  splendid  '  grcdy  flewry'  silk  for  only  a  dol- 
lar a  yard,  and  linen  cambric  handkerchers  that  wa'n'i 
half  cotton,  for  half  price,  would  put  off  a  brass  biiz- 
zom-pin  onto  a  clargyman  for  gold !  what  an  idee !'' 
Brother  Cumstork  dident  say  no  more.  Well,  Mr. 
Montgomery  he  stood  there  with  his  knees  a  shakm' 
and  a  lookin'  as  if  he  'd  like  to  exasperate  through  the 
key  hole.  At  last  says  I  "  Come,  what  do  you  think 
a'  the  offer?"  "Well,  well,''  says  he,  "raly,  I— I—" 
Then  I  marched  strait  up  to  him,  and  hild  the  pin 
right  unde?  his  nose,  and  says  I,  "  Lfistopher !  do  you 
darst  t:>  saj  that  are  pin  's  brass?"  He  ketcht  it  out 
c  my  hand  and  stuffed  it  into  his  pocket,  and  says  he, 
4t  Well,  bein'  as  you  belong  to  the  clargy,  I  s'pose  I  'd 
ought  to  accommodate  ye."  So  I  took  my  dagger- 
types  and  started  off.  Jest  as  I  was  a  passin'  out  be- 
hind the  men,  Jabe  ketcht  me  slyly  by  the  sleeve, 
and  says  he,  "Widder!"  :'That  ain't  my  name,"  says 
1  " Miss  Sniffles,  I  mean,"  says  he,  "I  hope  ye '11 
keep  dark"  i  dident  say  nothing ;  but  after  we  'd 
got  into  the  street,  right  by  the  corner  of  the  store, 
where  ther  was  a  hull  mess  o'  men  standin',  I  looks 
up  to  his  winder  and  shakes  my  daggertypes  in  his 
face  and  says  I,  "  Jaby  Clark,  don't  you  feel  green  fn 
Then  i  explained  it  to  Elder  Cumstork  j  and  he  told 


220  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

Sjcuth — and  I  tell  ye  it  flew  like  every  thing.  The 
next  mornin'  Mr.  Montgomery  was  missin\ 

There  comep  the  elder — he 's  ben  over  to  Deacon 
Hugle's.  I  '11  be  hanged  if  he  ain't  a  comin'  in  with 
O7it  cleanin'  his  feet.  I  wonder  if  any  woman  ever 
had  ther  patience  so  tried  as  mine  is  all  the  time  I 
Here  ye  be — mud  and  all.  I  wonder  if  it  svei  occur- 
red tew  ye  what  that  scraper  was  put  to  the  door  for  ? 
Ye  never  think  o'  cleanin'  yer  feet  no  more  'n  as  if 
ther  wa'n't  such  a  thing  ii  the  world.  I  guess  yer 
first  wife  must  a  ben  a  wonderful  particklar  wo- 
man." 

"  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Sniffles,  I  was  not  aware  that 
%ny  particles  of  mud  adhered  to  the  extremities  cf 
my  boots." 

"I  presume  ye  wa'n't  aware  on't.  Ye'd  go  head 
foremost  into  a  mud  puddle  as  big  as  a  meetin'-houce, 
and  not  be  aware  on 't.  Sal !  fetch  here  the  dust  pan, 
and  brush,  and  clean  up  this  mud,  quick.  There! 
jest  like  ye !  can't  take  it  up  without  gittin'  down  on 
yer  knees  to  dew  it." 

"  I  got  down  to  look  after  it — coulden*  see  where 
'twas." 

"  Couldent  see  it,  hey !  Hain't  ye  no  eyes  in  yer 
head  ?  Ye  Ve  ben  so  used  to  mud  and  dirt  all  yer 
days,  I  s'pose  you  actilly  don't  see  it  without  it 's  a 
lump  as  big  as  yer  head.  Scoured  them  pans  yit?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 


THE    BEV.    MRS.    SNIFFLES    AT    HOME.     221 

"  Well,  why  dident  ye  come  and  let  me  know  when 
ye  got  done — say  ?" 

"  Because  I  only  just  got  done  this  minute." 
"  That 's  a  likel/  story  !  1 11  bet  a  dollar  ye  Ve  ben 
a  lookin'  out  o'  tha  winder,  or  'jalkin'  to  Bets  Wilson 
this  half  hDur.  G-O  along  and  make  up  a  fire,  and 
put  on  the  tea  kittle,  [boxing  her  ears]  and  then  go 
oat  and  mop  off  the  steps,  and  git  'em  ready  for  Mr. 
Sniffles  to  dob  up  with  mud  agin  next  time  he  comes 
in" 

"  Well,  Sister  Sniffles,  I  guess  I  must  go." 
'-What!  1  thought  ye  was  a  gwine  to  stay  to  tea.1* 
"  No,  I  can't — husband  T  be  expectin'  me  hum  to 
drink  tea  with  him." 

"  Well,  then.  1 11  jest  throw  on  my  things  and  run 
ovei  and  take  a  dish  with  ye,  for  I  'm  tired,  and  don't 
feel  like  gittin'  vittals  myself." 

"  Brother  Sniffles  you  come  along  tew." 
"  Well,  then,  Sal  you  may  take  off  the  tea-kettle ; 
and  don't  ye  maLe  no  more  fire — shet  up  the  stove, 
and  let  ii  go  down  and  take  yer  knitting  ork  and  stick 
to  't  stiddy.  If  ye  want  any  thing  to  eat  afore  we  git 
back,  ye  may  git  some  o'  that  cold  pork  and  taters. 
Thank  fortin  the  cubbard  's  locked,  or  I  s'pose  she  'd 
be  a  pokin'  her  nose  into  the  rest  o'  the  vittals — 
moopin'  critter.' 


XXL 


in    *rtr  to 


"  T  SAY  I  'm  disgusted  with  this  old  house  ;  't  ain't 
fit  for  ginteel  folks  to  live  in  ;  looks  as  if  't  was 
built  in  Noah's  time,  with  its  consarned  old  gamble 
ruff  and  icetle  bits  o'  winders  a  pokin'  out  like  bird 
cages  all  round.  Painted  yaller,  too,  and  such  a  hum- 
bly yaller  ;  for  all  the  world  jest  the  color  o'  calomel 
and  jollup  !" 

"  But  you  are  aware,  Mrs.  Sniffles  —  " 

"  I  say  't  ain't  fit  to  live  in.  I  'm  ashamed  on  '  X  I 
feel  awful  mortified  about  it  whenever  I  look  at  Alias 
Myerses  and  Miss  Loderses,  and  the  rest  o'  the  hansomt1, 
sittiwations  in  the  neighborhood,  with  their  wings  and 
their  piazzers  and  foldin'  doors,  ana  all  so  dazzlin1 
white.  It  's  ridicilous  that  we  should  have  to  live  in 
such  a  distressid  lookin'  old  consarn,  when  we're 
every  bit  and  grain  as  good  as  they  be,  if  not  ruthei 
better." 

"  Nevertheless,  the  house  is  very  comfortable." 

"  ComfortaHe  I  who  cares  for  comfort  when  gintili- 


EXPRESSES    HER    SENTIMENTS.          223 

cy  's  consarned !  /  don't.  I  say  if  you  rre  detarmined 
fcc  stay  in  it,  you  'd  ought  to  make  some  alterations 
in  't.  You  'd  oughf  to  higher  the  ruff  up  and  put  on 
some  wings,  and  build  a  piazzer  in  front  with  four 
great  pillars  to  ?t,  and  knock  out  that  are  petition  be- 
twixt the  square  room  and  kitchen,  and  put  foldin' 
doors  instid  on't,  and  then  build  on  a  kitchen  behind, 
and  have  it  all  painted  white,  with  green  winder 
blinds.  That  would  look  something  like,  and  then  I 
shouldent  feel  ashamed  to  have  ginteel  company  come 
to  see  me,  as  I  dew  now.  T'  other  day,  when  Curnel 
Billins  and  his  wife  called,  I  couldent  help  noticin' 
how  contemptible  she  looked  round  at  the  house  and 
furniture — I  actilly  was  so  mortified  I  felt  as  if  I 
should  sink  right  through  the  floor." 

"But  you  know,  Mrs.  Sniffles—" 

"  I  say  we  'd  ought  to  have  new  furnitur — sofys  and 
fashionable  cheers,  and  curtains,  and  mantletry  orna- 
ments, and  so  forth.  That  old  settee  looks  like  a  sight, 
And  them  cheers,  tew,  they  must  a  come  over  in  the 
ark.  And  then  ther  ain't  a  picter  in  the  house,  only 
jest  that  everlastia'  old  likeness  o'  Bonyparte.  I  '11 
bet  forty  great  apples  it 's  five  hundred  years  old.  I 
was  raly  ashamed  on  't  when  I  see  Miss  Curnel  Bil- 
lins look  at  it  so  scornful  when  they  called  here.  I 
s'pose  she  was  a  counterastin'  it  with  their  beautiful 
new  picters  they  're  jest  ben  a  gittin  up  from  New 
York,  all  in  gilt  frames.  I  seen  one  on  'em  t'  other 


224  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

day  in  to  Mr.  Bungle's  shop,  when  I  went  in  with 
Sister  Tibbins  to  look  at  her  portrait  that  he 's  a  paint- 
in'.  I  seen  one  o'  Miss  Billinses  picters  there.  'T  was 
a  splendid  one,  as  big  as  the  top  o'  that  are  table,  and 
represented  an  elegant  lady  a  lyin'  asleep  by  a  river, 
and  ther  was  a  little  angel  a.  hoverin'  in  the  air  o^er 
her  head,  jest  a  gwine  to  shoot  at  her  with  a  bow  and 
arrer.  I  axed  Mr.  Bungle  what 't  was  sent  to  his  shop 
for,  and  he  said  how  't  Miss  Billins  wa'n't  quite  satis- 
fied with  it  on  account  o'  the  angel's  legs  bein'  bare, 
and  she  wanted  to  have  him  paint  some  pantaletts  on 
'em,  and  he  was  a  gwine  to  dew  it  as  soon  as  he  got 
time.  He  thought 't  would  be  a  very  interestin'  picter 
when  he  got  it  fixed.  I  think  so  tew.  I  dew  admire 
picters  when  they  ain't  all  dirty  and  faded  out  like  old 
Bony  there.  Them  Scripter  pieces  that  Sister  Myers 
has  got  hangin'  in  her  front  parlor — them  she  painted 
afore  she  was  married,  strikes  me  as  wonderful  inter- 
estin', especially  the  one  that  represents  Pharoh's 
daughter  a  findin'  Moses  in  the  bulrushes.  Her  para- 
sol and  the  artificials  in  her  bunnit  is  jest  as  natral  as 
life.  And  Moses,  he  looks  so  cunnin'  a  lyin'  there 
asleep,  with  his  little  coral  necklace  and  bracelets  on 
0  it's  a  sweet  picter.  And  Hike  that  other  one,  tew, 
that  represents  Pharoh  a  drivin'  full  tilt  into  the 
Red  Sea  after  the  Isrelites.  How  natral  his  coat- tails 
flies  out.  I  think  some  Scripter  pieces  would  be  very 
approbriate  for  a  minister's  house.  We  might  git  Mr 


EXPRESSES    HER    SENTIMENTS.        225 

Bungle  to  paint  some  for  the  front  parlor,  and  our 
portraits  to  hang  in  the  back  parlor,  as  Miss  Myers 
has  theirn.  But  law  me !  what 's  the  use  o'  my  talk- 
in'  o'  havin'  picters  or  any  thing  else  that 's  decent  ? 
You  don't  take  no  interest  in  it.  You  seem  to  be  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  this  flambergasted  old  house  and 
every  thing  in  it."; 

11  My  former  consort  never  desired  any  thing  supe 
rior  to  it." 

"  Your  former  consort !  I  'm  sick  and  tired  o'  hear 
in'  about  her.  'T  aint  by  no  means  agreeable  to  have 
dead  folks  throw'd  in  yer  face  from  mornin'  to  night. 
What  if  she  was  satisfied  with  her  sittiwation  ? 
'T  ain't  no  sign  /  should  be.  I  s'pose  she  hadent 
never  ben  used  to  nothin'  better,  but  I  have" 

"But,  Mis.  Sniffles,  you  must  recollect  that — " 

"  I  say  't  ain't  to  be  put  up  with.  I  want  to  have 
some  company — ben  wantin'  tew  ever  sence  we  was 
married ;  but  as  for  invitin'  any  ginteel  people  a  visit- 
in*  to  such  a  distressid  old  shell  as  this  is,  I  won't  dew 
it,  —and  so — Miss  Billins  and  Miss  Loder  and  them 
would  say  I  was  tryin'  to  cut  a  swell,  and  couldent 
tn?ke  it  out.  And  I  don't  mean  to  accept  no  more 
invitations  amonkst  them  that  lives  in  style,  for  it  ag- 
gravates me,  it  does,  to  think  how  different  I  'm  sitti- 
wated.  Sc  you  may  make  yer  pastoral  visits  without 
me  in  future,  for  I  Ve  made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  out 
none  as  long  as  we  live  in  this  ridicilous  old  house." 
10* 


226  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

"  But  recollect,  Mrs.  Sniffles,  this  house  is  a  parsonage 
— I  occupy  it  rent  free." 

"  I  don't  care  if  't  is  a  parsonage.  I  say  the  congre- 
gation might  afford  you  a  better  one,  and  for  my  part, 
I  'm  disposed  to  make  a  fuss  about  it." 

"  Mrs.  Sniffles,  you  must  be  aware  that  I  am  not 
possessed  of  inexhaustible  means.  I  have  never  at- 
tempted to  conceal  from  you  this  fact — therefore,  you 
must  also  be  aware  that  there  exists  an  entire  impossi- 
bility of  my  erecting  a  new  residence  on  the  plan 
which  you  propose.  Nor  is  it  at  all  probable  that  the 
congregation  would  be  willing  to  make  such  altera- 
tions in  this  as  you  suggest.  Yet,  I  assure  you,  that  I 
have  not  the  slightest  objection  to  your  employing 
your  own  means  in  the  construction  of  a  more  elegant 
edifice." 

"  My  own  means  !" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Sniffles.  Your  dissatisfaction  with  the 
parsonage  is  so  great,  that  I  have  for  some  time  past 
been  expecting  you  would  propose  building  a  new  res- 
idence ;  and  I  repeat  that  such  an  appropriation  of  a 
portion  of  your  funds  would  meet  my  concurrence." 

"My  funds!" 

"  Your  funds,  Mrs.  Sniffles.  It  is  a  delicate  subject 
and  one  on  which  I  have  hitherto  hesitated  to  make 
inquiry,  although  possessing  an  undoubted  right  io  do 
BO.  I  have  been  expecting  ever  since  our  union,  that 


EXPRESSES    HER    SENTIMENTS          227 

you  would  inform  me  how  and  wheie  your  property 
is  invested." 

"  My  property !" 

"Your  property,  Mrs.  Sniffles.  In  what  does  it 
consist,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  inquire  ?" 

"Land  o'  liberty  !  you  know  as  well  as  I  dew." 

"  What  am  I  to  infer  from  that  observation  ?" 

"  Jest  what  you  're  a  mind  to.  I  ain't  woth  money, 
and  I  never  said  I  was." 

"  Mrs.  Sniffles,  you  are  well  aware  that  on  your  ar- 
rival in  this  place,  common  report  pronounced  you  to 
be  an  individual  of  abundant  means,  and  I  have  al- 
ways labored  under  this  impression — an  impression 
which,  allow  me  to  remind  you,  yourself  confirmed 
in  a  conversation  which  occurred  between  us  in  the 
parsonage  grove." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say 't  I  told  you  so,  and  you 
darsent  say  't  I  did." 

"  A-hem— I  mean  to  Lay  that  you  did  not  deny  it 
when  I  delicately  alluded  to  the  subject.  On  the  con- 
trary you  led  me  to  infer  that  such  was  the  fact,  and 
under  that  impression  I  was  induced  to  accede  to  your 
proposal." 

"  My  proposal  ?  What  do  you  mean  to  insinniwate  ?" 

"  I  should  have  said  your — your — evident  inclina- 
tion for  a — a — matrimonial  engagement.  I  deeply  re- 
gret, Mrs.  Sniffles,  that  you  should  have  allowed  your- 
self to  practice  upon  me  what  I  can  not  consider  in  any 


228  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

other  light  than  that  of  a  heinous  and  unmitigated 
deception.  I  regard  it  as  an  act  quite  incompatible 
with  your  religious  professions." 

"  You  dew,  hey  ?  well,  you  can't  say  't  I  ever  told 
you  out  "and  out  that  I  was  woth  property  ;  and  if 
you  was  a  mind  to  s'pose  so  from  what  I  did  say,  I  'm 
sure  't  ain't  my  fault,  nor  I  ain't  to  blame  for  othei 
folkses  saying  I  was  a  rich  widder." 

"  Mrs.  Sniffles,  T  lament  exceedingly  that  you  should 
view  it  in  that  light.  You  can  but  acknowledge  that  it 
was  your  duty  when  I  requested  information  on  tho 
subject,  to  have  given  me  a  correct  account  of  your 
property." 

"  I  hadent  no  property  to  give  ye  an  accont  of." 

"  You  should  have  told  me  so,  Mrs.  Sniffles,  and 
not  have  suffered  me  to  infer  that  you  was  in  easy 
circumstances." 

"  1  tell  ye  agin,  I  couldent  help  what  you  inferred, 
and  s'pozen  I  could,  whnh  was  the  most  to  blame,  me 
for  lettin'  you  think  I  was  rich,  or  you  for  marry  in' 
me  "because  you  thought  I  was  rich  ?  For  my  part,  I 
think  thai  was  ruther  incompatible  with  yiur  profess- 
ions. Ministers  had  ought  to  have  their  affections  sot 
above  transiterry  riches." 

"Mrs.  Sniffles,  this  is  a — a— delicate  subject,  we 
will  waive  it,  if  you  please." 

"But  I  think  the  congregation  ought  to  fix  up  the 
house." 


EX  TRESSES    HER    SENTIMENTS.        229 

**  I  will  lay  it  before  the  session  at  tlie  next  meet- 
ing." 

"  Well,  dew,  for  pity's  sake.  And  if  they  agree  to 
fix  it,  I'll  go  a  journey  somewhar  while  it 's  a  "bein'  al- 
tered, and  you  can  board  round,  and  Sal  can  stay  at 
sister  Mag  wire's." 

Extracts  from  Mrs.  Sniffles'  Diary. 
SABBATH  DAY  EVENING. — 0,  what  a  precious  sea- 
son this  day  has  been  to  me !  My  pardner  has 
hild  forth  with  uncommon  unction.  O,  may  he  long 
be  a  burnin'  and  shinin'  light  to  the  world !  My  feel- 
ins  to-day  has  been  of  the  most  desirable  natur.  0 
that  I  could  say  so  every  night !  but,  alas !  ther  is 
times  when  I  feel  as  cold  as  a  stun,  when  the  face  o 
creation  seems  to  frown,  and  evidences  is  wonderful 
dull.  And  then  agin.  I  'm  as  bright  as  a  dollar,  and 
have  such  wonderful  clear  manifestations,  and  such 
oncommon  nearness — and  such  a  sense  of  intarnal 
satisfaction.  0  that  I  couTd  always  feel  as  I  'd  ought 
to  feel.  Dear  suz  !  I  'm  often  reminded  o'  what  my 
deceased  companion,  the  lamented  Deacon  Bedott, 
used  to  remark,  "  We  're  all  poor  critters." 

To-day  we  're  liable  to  fall, 

To-morrow  up  we  climb, 
For  't  ain't  our  nature  to  enjoy 

Religion  all  the  time. 

MONDAY. — Have  ben  very  much  exercised  to-day' 
on  account  of  Sally  Blake,  our  help.  Her  depraved 


230       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

natur  Kas  showed  out  in  a  very  tiym'  manner.  .But  1 
feel  to  rejoice  that  I  Ve  ben  enabled  to  be  faithful  with 
her.  How  I  have  wrastled  day  and  night  for  that  dig- 
tressid  child !  0,  that  I  may  have  grace  to  bear  with 
patience  and  resignation  the  daily  trials  I  have  to  un- 
dergo with  her  !  I  feel  to  be  thankful  that  thus  far  J 
have  ben  supported  and  hain't  sunk  under  it  as  many 
would  a  done.  O  that  I  may  be  enabled  to  feel  and 
realize  that  such  afflictions  is  sent  for  the  trial  of  my 
faith. 

THURSDAY. — O,  what  a  responsible  sittiwation  is 
mine  as  President  of  the  "  F.  U.  D.  G-.  E.,  and  A.  So 
ciety  !"  I  Ve  realized  it  in  an  overwhelmin'  degree 
to-day.  Attended  the  meetin'  this  afternoon,  and 
some  very  onpleasnt  circumstances  occured.  But  1 
feel  to  be  truly  thankful  that  I  had  grace  to  presarve 
my  uniformity  in  the  midst  of  the  diffikilties.  I  wish 
I  could  say  as  much  for  some  o'  the  rest  o'  the  mem- 
bers, especially  Sail  Hugle.  0,  the  vanity  and  pride 
o'  that  critter  I  it  grieves  me  to  the  heart. 

SATURDAY. — My  beloved  Shadrach  has  jist  inform- 
ed me  that  the  parsonage  is  to  be  repaired  and  made 
comfortable.  My  dear  pardner  has  requested  it  to  be 
done  intirely  to  please  me,  and  quite  unbeknown  to 
me.  It 's  true  it  needs  it  bad  enough,  but  then  I  never 
should  a  thought  o'  complainin'  about  it.  I  feel  that 
I  'm  a  pilgrim  and  a  sojourneyer  here,  and  hadent 
ought  to  be  partickler,  and  so  I  told  the  elder  when  he 


EXPRESSES    HEB    SENTIMENTS.         231 

proposed  havin'  the  house  repaired.  But  he  insisted 
on 't  and  I  consented  more  for  his  sake  than  my  own. 
0  that  I  may  be  truly  thankful  for  the  blesains  1  injoy 
especially  for  such  a  pardner  I 


Blest  be  the  day  o'  sacred  mirth 
That  gave  my  dear  companion  birth , 
Let  men  rejoice  while  Silly  sings 
TLe  bliss  her  precious  Shadrack  brings. 


XXII. 


T~\ON'T  care  a  snap  for  him,  hey?  Now  Nancy 
Harrington,  I  want  to  know  if  you  think 
you  're  a  gwine  to  make  me  believe  such  a  story  as 
that?  I'  know  letter.  I  can  see  as  fur  into  a  mill- 
stone as  any  body  —  and  I  know  and  have  know'd  for 
better  'n  six  months  how  't  you  and  Jasper  Doolittle 
tuck  a  notion  to  one  another.  'T  is  extrawnary  how 
gals  will  talk  !  If  you  don't  care  a  snap  for  him, 
what  makes  you  go  with  him  to  lecters,  and  con  certs, 
and  sleigh-rides,  and  all  kind  o'  dewins  ?  Don't  tell 
me  you  don't  care  a  snap  for  him.  He  's  a  real  nice 
young  man  tew  —  stiddy  and  industrus  and  dewin' 
well  —  you  never  '11  have  a  better  chance  in  yer  life  — 
mabby  he  hain't  said  nothin'  partickler  to  you  yet  — 
but  that  's  no  sign  he  ain't  a  gwine  tew  as  soon  as  he 
gits  his  curridge  up.  He  's  rather  bashful,  you  know 
—  it  takes  them  sort  o'  fellers  longer  to  come  to  the  pint 
in  such  matters,  they  want  considerable  spurrin'  up, 
and  I  advise  you  not  to  let  nobody  else  hear  you  say 
you  don't  care  nothin'  about  Jasper  Doolittle  —  trouble 


AUNT    MAGUIRE   S    EXPERIENCE,      233 

Gomes  o  them  kind  o'  speeches.  I  know  by  experi- 
ence— I  come  purty  nigh  losin'  yer  Uncle  Joshaway 
V>y  makin'  an  unprudent  remark  o'  that  nater.  I  '11 
tell  you  how  't  was,  and  mabby  you  '11  take  warnin' 
by  it.  I  remember  egzackly  when  'iwas — 'twas  in 
the  month  o'  March,  about  tew  year  and  a  half  arter 
Sister  Bedott  was  married ;  yer  uncle  and  me  'd  ben 
keepin'  company  all  winter :  he  come  t'  our  house 
every  Sabberday  evenin'  regularly,  besides  always 
seein*  me  hum  from  singin'-school  and  evenin'  meet- 
ins,  and  so  forth — 't  was  town  talk  that  we  was  en- 
grayed — Joshaway  Magwire  and  Melissy  Poole — that 
was  the  story  all  round.  But  all  this  time,  mind  you 
—he  hadent  said  a  word  tew  me  about  havin'  on  him, 
though  I  was  suspectin'  every  day  when  he  would. 
You  see  he  was  awful  bashful.  Well,  one  night 
('t  was  in  the  month  o'  March),  we  was  gwine  hum 
from  singin'-school — nary  one  on  us  dident  say  nothin' 
for  some  ways.  At  last  yer  uncle  ham'd  and  haw'd 
tew  or  three  times,  and  then  says  he  to  me,  says  he, 
"  Melissy !"  says  I,  "  Hey?" — but  he  dident  continner 
for  some  time — arter  a  spell  he  ham'd  and  haw'd  agin 
— and  he  says  to  me,  saj-s  he,  "Melissy!"  says  I, 
"Well— what?"  but  still  he  dident  continner.  At 
/ast  I  see  we  was  a  gittin'  purty  nigh  hum — so  I  says 
to  him,  say  I,  "  Joshaway — what  was  you  a  gwine  to 
remark  ?"  So  then  he  says,  says  he,  "  I  was  a  gwine 
to  say — "  but  his  curridge  failed  and  he  dident  finish. 


/34       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

Afore  long  we  come  to  the  gate,  and  there  we  ^ 
(we  used  to  stop  awhile  at  the  gate  in  a  gineral  way), 
and  «ays  he,  "  Melissy !"  says  I,  "  Joshaway  Maguire, 
what  dew  you  want?"  "  Why,"  says  he,"  "  I  was  a 
gwine  to  ax  you — •."  Jest  then  yer  granf  ther  Pool? 
opened  the  door  and  came  out,  and  so  yer  uncle  went 
off  and  I  went  in.  Well — next  day  Hanner  Canoot 
come  in  t'  our  house — and  she  begun  to  joke  mo 
about  yer  uncle — now  I  never  could  bear  Hanner 
Canoot — she  was  a  reglar  mischief-makin'  old  maid — 
always  a  meddlin'  with  every  body's  bizness  in  the 
place — and  sure  as  she  see  a  young  cupple  appearantiy 
attached  to  one  another,  she  'd  insiniwate  sutin'  or, 
other  against  'em.  She  couldent  git  no  sweetheart 
herself,  and  it  made  her  awful  cross-grained  and  mad 
at  them  as  could  git  'em.  I  hadent  never  had  no 
diffikilty  with  her — but  I  dispised  her — and  yei 
gram'ther  Poole  used  to  say  to  me  frequently,  "  Me 
lissy,  dew  be  keerful  what  you  say  afore  Hanner 
Canoot — she  's  a  dangerous  critter" — and  I  was  kerful 
in  a  gineral  way.  And  then,  you  see,  ther  was 
another  thing  about  it — there  was  her  brother,  Josiar 
Canoot — he  'd  ben  tryin'  to  be  perlite  to  me  tew  01 
three  year — and  I  wouldent  keep  company  with  him, 
nor  have  nothin'  to  say  tew  him — and  Hanner  she 
know'd  it,  and  felt  awful  spiteful  to  me  on  account  or 
that.  Speakin  o'  Siar  Canoot — the  last  time  I  was  up 
to  Wiggletown,  yer  A.unt  Bedoot  tolled  me  he  was 


ACNT  MAQUIRE'S  EXPERIENCE.     235 

quite  pertickler  to  her.  He  hain't  never  ben  married. 
I  s'pose  nobody  wouldent  have  him—  he  was  so  lazy 
and  so  consarned'  disagreeable  and  so  awful  humbly. 
Why  his  hair  was  as  read  as  blazes — and  he  hadent 
no  nose  at  all — and  what  ther  was  on  't  turned  right 
ap  straight.  "When  yer  Aunt  Bedott  tell'd  me  about 
his  steppin'  up  to  her,  I  say,  says  I,  "I  hope  you 
won't  incurridge  him,  Silly — for  he  's  a  poor  shiftless 
critter."  "  Why  no  he  ain't,  nother,"  says  she,  "  he 's 
ben  in  the  millentary  and  got  to  be  Cappen  Canoot." 
11 1  don't  care  for  that,"  says  I ;  "  't  wouldent  make  no 
difference  to  me  if  he  was  gineral — he  's  Si  Canoot 
and  always  will  be."  Well,  I  felt  awful  worried 
about  it,  and  when  I  come  hum,  I  telled  yer  uncle 
on't,  and  says  he,  "0  don't  you  be  afeard  o'  Silly's 
marryin'  him.  I'll  be  bound  he  hain't  no  idee  o' 
marryin'  Jier.  She  always  thinks  the  men  has  serus 
intentions  if  they  look  at  her" — that's  what  yer  uncle 
paid — and  I  don't  say  but  what  'Z  is  so — Sister  Bedott 's 
a  curus  critter — tho'  she's  a  nice  woman  in  the  main. 
"Well,  I  was  a  gwine  to  tell  what  Hanner  said ;  she 
begun  to  joke  me — and  says  she  (I  was  a  spinnin'  on 
a  gret  wheel  you  know),  well  she  begun  at  me  and 
Bays  she,  "  Melissy,  they  tell  curus  stories  about  you ;" 
whiz-  -whiz — whiz  went  the  wheel,  and  I  jertended 
I  dident  hear  her.  Arter  a  spell  she  spoke  up  louder, 
and  says  she,  "Melissy — they  tell  strange  stories 
about  you  and  Joshaway ;"  whiz — whiz — whiz  went 


236  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

the  wheel.  I  made  as  if  I  dident  hear  a  word,  she  said 
— so  bymebye  she  turns  GO  yoor  gram'ther  (she 
was  a  settin'  there),  and  says  she — "  How  is  it,  M'iss 
Poole?  when  's  that  are  weddin'  comin'  on  ?"  "  What 
weddin?"  says  mother,  says  she.  "Why,  Melissy 
and  Joshaway  Mag  wire,  beshure/'  says  Hanner,  says 
she.  "Never — not  as  I  knows  on,"  says  mother, 
says  she,  "I  don't  know  nothin'  about  no  such 
bizness."  Well — -she  see  she  couldent  git  no  satisfac- 
tion out  o'  mother,  so  she  hollers  to  me  agin,  and  says 
she,  "  seems  to  me  yer  ruther  hard  o'  hearin'  to-day, 
Melissy."  Whiz-z-z-z-z  went  the  wheel  louder  'n  ever, 
and  I  dident  take  no  notice  o'  what  she  said.  Purty 
soon  she  bawled  out  agin,  and  says  she — "I  guess 
what  makes  you  so  deef,  you  must  a  ketcht  cold  in 
yer  head  last  night-— 't  was  rather  a  long  journey  you 
tuck  to  git  hum" — (you  see  yer  uncle  and  me  went 
hum  by  the  turnpike  instid  o'  gwine  cross  lots — but 
how  the  critter  found  it  out  dear  knows).  Well,  1 
dident  pay  no  'tention,  but  I  tell  you  I  was  a  gittin' 
awful  mad.  Arter  a  spell  she  gits  up  and  comes  and 
dumps  herself  right  down  aside  o'  me,  and  says  she, 
"  Say,  Melissy,  dew  tell  when  you  and  Joshaway  's  a 
gwine  to  step  off — he  's  a  very  nice  young  man,  tho' 
I  guess  he  won't  never  set  the  river  afire."  When 
she  said  that,  I  was  completely  ryled  up.  I  d  ben  a 
growin'  madier  and  madder  all  the  time — to  think  o 
her  tellin'  right  afore  mother  about  our  comin'  bum 


Banner  Cannoot— yer  a  meddling  old  maid,  I  wish  you'd  mind  yer  own  bizness, 
Jam  me  alone  a'jout  Josh.  Maguire.     I  wouldn't  wiys  my  old  shoes  on  him.— PAGB  2 


AUNT  MAGUIRE'S  EXPERIENCE.     237 

by  the  turnpike — and  then  say  in'  "  he  wouldent  never 
eet  the  river  afire" — 't  was  tew  much,  I  couldent  hold 
m  no  longer;  so  I  turned  round  and  shook  my  wheel- 
pin  in  her  face,  and  says  I,  "  Hanner  Canoot — yer  a 
meddlin'  old  maid.  I  wish  you  'd  mind  yer  own 
bizness  and  lem  'me  alone  about  Josh  Magwire — / 
wouldent  wipe  my  old  shoes  on  him"  Now  what  did 
the  critter  dew  when  I  spoke  so  ?  Why  she  snorted 
right  out  a  laffin,  and  says  she,  "  0,  don't  git  in  a  pas- 
sion, Melissy — don't ,  dew  keep  your  temper  till  yer 
oiarried — dew."  Purty  soon  she  went  hum.  This 
was  a  Friday.  Well — Sabberday  come  and  I  dident 
see  nothin  o'  Joshaway.  I  thought 't  was  ruther  queer, 
but  I  reckon'd  on  seein'  on  him  to  Wensday  evenin' 
meetin' — so  I  waited  with  patience  till  Wensday 
tvenin'  come,  and  I  went  to  meetin'.  Well,  he  was 
there,  and  1  s'posed  of  course  he  'd  wait  on  me  hum 
— but  when  meetin'  was  out,  lo  and  behold!  he  went 
straight  apas  me  and  axed  Cloey  Foggerson  if  he 
should  have  the  pleasure  o'  seein'  her  hum  I  Then  it 
all  come  thro'  my  head  like  a  flash  o'  lightnin',  what 
£  said  to  Hanner  Canoot— and  I  know'd  she  'd  told 
him  on  *t  as  we£  as  if  I  'd  heerd  her.  I  tell  you  I  felt 
like  death  1  I  never  know'd  till  that'  minnit  how 
ir:uch  1  sot  by  Joshaway  Magwire — the  idee  o'  loosin' 
on  him  was  awful  aggravatin'. 

Well,   I  got  hum  somehow  or  other  and  went 
straight  off  to  bed — buf;  I  dident  sleep  nun  that  night 


238  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

In  the  mornin'  I  got  up  with  a  tremenjuous  headache, 
and  lookin'  as  pale  as  a  ghost.  Mother,  she  axed  me 
whether  or  no  I  wa'n't  sick.  I  telled  her  no  ;  but  all 
that  day  I  wa'n't  fit  for  no  bizness — dident  have  no 
appertite — and  when  night  come  yer  gram'ther  felt 
so  consarned  about  me,  she  gin  me  a  dose  o'  perrigar- 
lick — cause  she  said  if  I  dident  sleep  that  night  I  'd  sar- 
tinly  be  attacked  with  the  fever.  In  spite  o'  the  per- 
rigarlick  I  dident  sleep  a  wink  that  night  nother. 
Next  day  I  felt  woss  than  ever,  but  I  was  awful  high 
sperrited,  and  I  was  detarmined  nobody  shouldent 
know  the  reason.  Thinks  me  if  Joshaway  's  a  mind 
to  use  me  so,  he  may  and  be  hanged  to  him.  I  ain't 
a  gwine  to  kill  myself  on  account  o'  him — he  ain't  the 
only  young  man  in  the  univarse.  That  was  the  way 
I  talked — to  myself — but  talkin'  and  dewin  's  tew 
things,  you  know,  Nancy.  The  more  I  tried  to  de- 
spise yer  uncle,  the  more  I  couldent — the  more  I  tried 
to  hate  him  the'better  I  liked  him.  Well,  so  it  went 
on  for  a  number  o'  weeks.  Yer  uncle  never  come 
nigh  me.  I  used  to  see  him  to  singin'  school  and 
meeting  but  he  never  offered  to  see  me  hum — always 
went  with  Oloey  Foggerson.  Afore  long,  every  body 
was  a  talkin'  about  him  and  Cioey  Foggerson.  But 
what  worked  me  most  was — the  gals  begun  tc  blag- 
guard  me  about  losin'  my  sweetheart,  and  thinks  me/, 
I  'U  git  him  back  if  I  die  for 't.  So  arter  ponderin' 
on't  a  spell,  I  made  up  mind  I  d  itcurridge  Siai 


AUNT    MAGUIRE  S    EXPERIENCE.      239 

Canoot,  and  see  'f  that  wouldent  bring  yer  uncle  tew. 
Si  was  ready  enough  to  step  up,  you  know,  but  I'd 
gi'n  him  the  mitten  so  many  times,  he  was  afeard  to 
ventur.  So  one  day  I  goes  by  his  shop  (he  was  a 
waggin-maker  by  trade,  you  know) — he  was  a  stand- 
in'  in  the  door  as  he  always  was — in  a  gineral  way — 
(he  was  everlastin'  lazy) — well,  I  says,  says  I,  "  How 
dt  aew,  Mr.  Canoot?"  I  tell  you  I  never  see  a  sur- 
priscter  critter  'n  what  he  was — I  hadent  spoke  tew 
him  in  better  'n  a  year.  "  Well  as  common,"  says  he. 
Says  I.  "  Why  don't  you  never f  come  to  see  us  now 
days,  Mr.  Canoot  ?"  The  critter  was  mighty  tickled 
• — and  says  he — "  The  reason  I  hain't  ben  's  cause  I 
reckoned  my  company  wa'n't  agreeable."  "  0 !  Mr. 
Canoot,  you  mustent  think  so,"  says  I — and  then  I 
went  off.  Well,  next  night  he  come  t'  our  house,  and 
arler  that  he  come  every  night — and  I  tell  you  't  was 
an  awful  cross  to  me  to  treat  him  any  way  decent — 
for  I  hated  the  critter  like  pizen :  but  I  managed  to  be 
periite  tew  him,  and  afore  a  week's  time  he  poppt  the 
question.  I  tell'd  him  't  was  very  onexpected  and  I 
nrjst  consider  on  't  a  spell  afore  I  gin  him  an  anser. 
He  seemed  appearantly  satisfied,  and  continnerd  to 
wait  on  me ;  and  I  could  see  't  yer  uncle  felt  oneasy 
by  the  way  he  lookt  sideways  at  us  whenever  he  see 
us  rogether — but  still  he  never  come,  nigh  me  noi  of- 
fered tew  speak  tew  me — and  so  it  went  on  for  tew 
hull  months.  All  the  nabors  begun  to  talk  about 


240       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEES. 

Josiar  Canoot  and  me — and  Siar  himself  was  a  teazm 
on  me  to  know  whether  I  hadent  considered  eny  most 
long  enough — and  what  to  dew  I  dident  know.  I 
was  nigh  upon  crazy — my  health  failed — I  hadent  no 
appetite,  nor  no  sperrits.  Yer  gram'ther  was  awful 
oneasy  about  me.  You  see  I  was  all  the  darter  she 
had  left  to  hum.  Yer  mar  was  married  and  gone,  and 
yer  Aunt  Bedott  was  married  and  gone  tew.  Well, 
I  got  to  be  a  miserable  critter.  One  evening,  arter 
supper,  I  was  in  a  dretful  state  o'  mind.  I  know'd 
Siar  was  a  comin'  that  night  to  git  his  anser,  and  I 
wanted  to  git  red  on  him.  So  I  huv  on  my  things 
and  slipt  out  and  went  up  to  Sister  Bedott's.  She 
lived  to  the  upper  eend  o'  the  village.  Well,  I 
found  yer  Aunt  Bedott  to  hum  alone.  Yer  Uncle 
Hez  wa'n't  in — gone  to  some  meetin'  or  other — and 
Kiar  (he  was  a  baby  then),  he  was  asleep  in  the  cra- 
dle. "  I  'm  glad  you  Ve  cum,"  says  Silly,  says  she, 
"  for  I  'm  awful  lonesome.  Hez  has  gun  off  somewher 
— dear  knows  wher :  't  is  amazin'  how  any  man  can 
be  willin'  to  leave  his  pardner  alone  as  much  as  he 
docs.  I  'm  clear  out  o'  patience  with  it-  —if  it  hader-.t 
a  ben  for  that  flabbergasted  young  one's  havin:  the 
snuffles,  I  'd  a  went  off  somewher  myself."  (Yer 
Aunt  Bedott 's  a  nice  woman,  but  she  was  always  an 
awful  grumbler — they  dew  say  she  jawed  the  deacon 
out  o'  the  world.)  Well,  so  she  went  on  scoldiu'  and 
frettin'  and  tellin'  her  troubles  and  trials,  for  ever  so 


AUNT  MAGUIRE'S  EXPERIENCE.     241 

long ;  at  last  T  broke  in,  and  says  I,  "  0 !  Silly,  don't 
go  on  so— you  dont  know  what  trouble  is."  1  said  it 
in  a  kind  o'  way  that  startled  her,  and  says  she,  "  Me- 
lissy,  what  dew  you  mean?"  I  bust  right  out  a  cry- 
in'.  Yer  aunt  huv  down  her  knittin'  work  and  come 
ap  tew  me,  and  says  she,  :/  Melissy  Poole,  what  is  the 
matter  ?"  I  kept  on  a  cryin'  and  dident  anser.  At 
last  say  she,  "Dew  tell  what  ails  you,  Melissy,  dew — 
't  lin't  nothin'  about  Joshaway  Magwire,  I  hope.  I 
wouldent,  fret  my  gizzard  for  him;  ther's  as  good 
fishes  h)  tl.e  sea  as  any  't  e\er  was  ketcht  yit."  Well, 
arter  a  spell  'ohinks  me  —I  may  as  well  tell  her.  So 
I  telled  her  the  hull  from  beginning  to  eend — how 
nigh  yer  uncle  come  to  poppin'  the  question — wLat  I 
said  to  Hanner  Canoot — how  she  provoked  me  to  say 
it — how  ondoubtedly  she  'd  told  Joshaway  on 't — and 
all  how  and  about  it.  Well,  at  fust  yer  aunt  blowed 
me  up  sky  high,  for  makin'  such  an  unprudent  speech 
(she  was  unprudent  enough  herself,  but  she  hadent 
no  patience  with  any  body  else  for  bein'  so).  At  last 
says  she,  "  What 's  said  can't  be  onsaid — the  only  way 
to  mend  the  mischief  is  for  Joshaway  and  you  to  git 
together  and  make  it  up  somehow."  "  But  how  can 
we  git  together,"  says  I ;  "I  can't  go  to  see  him,  and 
he  don't  never  come  to  see  me  no  more."  Arter 
thinkin'  a  spell,  says  Silly,  says  she  (Silly  was  always 
a  cunnin'  critter),  "I've  got  it  now;  you  jest  stay 
here  and  see  to  the  baby,  and  I  '11  run  into  the  Widder 
11 


242      WIDOW  BEDOTT  TAPERS. 

Magwire's— it 's  a  good  while  seiice  I've  been  there 
It 's  purty  dark  now,  and  by  the  time  I  come  huiri 
it  '11  be  awful  dark,  and  Joshaway  he  '11  come  with  me 
— he's  did  it  several  times — he  's  wonderf.il  peiiite— - 
and  when  we  git  to  the  door  I ']!  ax  him  to  come  in 
and  see  husband.  Hez  won't  be  to  hum  '£  ain't  like! v 
—but  Josh  won't  kno~v  but  what  he  is — and  when  he 
ones  gits  in,  I'  11  bet  forty  gret  apples  you  and  he  11 
make  it  all  straight  purty  soon."  U0,  Silly,"  says  .[, 
"  that 's  a  real  good  idee — but  you  mustent  let  him 
know  I  'm  here,  cause  if  you  dew  he  won't  come  in." 
"I  won't,  sartin  sure,"  says  she.  So  she  put  on  her 
things  and  off  she  went,  and  I  sot  dc  rn  the  back  side 
o'  the  room  and  begun  a  contrivin'  vhat  I  chould  say 
to  yer  uncle.  O,  Nancy !  you  Ve  no  idee  what  a  state 
of  preturbation  I  was  in — one  minnit  I  was  afeard  1 
shouldent  say  nothin'  to  no  purpose — and  the  next 
minnit  I  was  eny  most  sure  o'  gittin'  Joshaway  bs.ek 
agin.  Well,  Sister  Bedott  was  gone-  a  hull  hour. 
You  see  Joshaway  wa'n't  to  hum  when  she  went,  and 
BO  she  stayed  till  he  come.  It  did  seem  to  me  as  if 
she  was  gone  a  year.  At  last  I .  heerd  'em  a  comin'. 
They  got  to  the  door  and  says  yer  uncle,  says  he, 
"Good  night."  "0,  you  come  in,  dew,"  says  yer 
Aunt  Silly,  says  she ;  "  Mr.  Bedott  wants  to  see  you 
amazinly."  "  Well,"  says  he,  "  I  '11  step  in  a  minnit" 
So  in  they  come.  "  Why,"  says  Sister  Bedott,  says 
she,  "  I  wonder  where  husband  is !  you  set  down  by 


AUNT    MAG  HIRE'S    EXPEDIENCE.      243 

the  fire  and  I  '11  go  call  him-  —he  can't  be  far  off  1  'm 
sure;  he  wouldent  go  off  and  leave  the  baby  alone." 
So  he  sot  down  with  his  back  to  me — (I  was  a  settin 
where  he  dident  see  me),  and  she  went  off  into  t'  other 
room  and  shot  the  door.  Gracious  sakes  alive !  I 
never  in  my  hull  life  experienced  such  feelins  as  I  did 
that  minnit — and  I  never  shall  agin  if  I  live  a  thous 
and  year.  It  seem'd  as  if  my  heart  would  jump  right 
out  o'  my  mouth.  Arter  a  minnit  or  so  I  ham'd — yer 
uncle  he  started  and  lookt  round — and  when  he  see 
me  he  riz  up  and  made  for  the  door.  Thinks  me, 
I  Ve  lost  him  now  sartain,  sure.  Jest  as  he  got  his 
hand  on  the  latch,  says  I,  "  Mr.  Magwire !"  He  stopt 
and  lookt  round  at  me,  and  says  he,  "  Did  you  speak 
to  me,  Miss  Poole  ?"  "  Yes,"  says  I.  "  What  did  you 
want?"  says  he; — he  spoke  so  cold  and  onconsarned, 
I  felt  clear  discurridged,  and  I  jest  bust  right  out  a 
cryin'.  So  then  he  come  up  to  me,  and  says  he,  "  Me- 
lisrv  1''  Says  I,  "  Joshaway,  what  makes  you  so  cold 
a^d  distant  to  me  lately?"  Says  he,  "You're  en- 
gagec,  ain't  you,  Melissy  ?"  Says,  I  "  No  I  ain't — no 
such  a  thing."  Arter  a  minnit  he  says,  says  he, 
"  What  made  you  say  you  wouldent  wipe  yer  old 
shoes  en  me?"  "Cause  I  wouldent,11  says  I,  "and 
ther  ain't  but  one  feller  in  the  town  I  would  sarve  such 
ft  mean  trick,  and  that's  Siar  Canoot— he's  jest  fit  to 
wipe  old  shoes  on."  Now  Nancy  what  do  you  s'poze 
yer  uncle  done  then  ?  Why  he  huv  his  arms  round 


244       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

my  neck,  and  giv  ine  such  a  thunderin'  smack  as  I 
never  got  afore  nor  sence.  "O,  Melissy,"  says  he, 
''we'll  be  married  arter  all  the  fuss — won't  we?'1 
"I  shouldent  wonder,"  says  I.  And  we  was  married 
in  less  than  a  month,  and  I  hain't  never  had  no  'casion 
to  repent — for  he 's  made  me  a  fust  rate  husband ;  but 
only  think  how  nigh  I  come  to  losin'  on  him  jest  for 
speakin'  as  I  did  to  Hanner  Canoot.  She  hain't  never 
ben  nigh  me  sence  I  was  married — and  as  for  Siar, 
be  was  as  mad  as  the  Dragon. 


XXIII. 

0f 


O  EE  it 's  about  year  since  you  was  here,  ain't  it, 
Nancy  ?  'T  wa'n't  long  afore  you  was  married,  I 
know.  Well,  ther  's  been  some  changes  here  since 
then.  We  Ve  lost  our  old  minister,  Parson  Scrantum, 
and  got  a  new  one.  He  seems  to  be  a  very  good  man, 
Parson  Tuttle  does — quite  young  yet — -jest  begun  to 
preach,  hain't  ben  married  but  a  little  while.  And  his 
wife  appeared  like .  a  nice  woman,  tew.  But  I  feel 
sorry  for  ;em.  This  is  a  trying  place  for  a  minister, 
and  a  minister's  wife,  tew.  Though  I  don't  know  but 
what  all  places  are  jest  so.  All  goes  on  slick  enough 
yet — but  I  'm  afeard  't  won't  last  long.  They  hain't 
ben  here  but  three  months — and  the  folks  are  makin' 
a  terrible  fuss  over  'em.  You  know  it 's  the  way  they 
always  dew  when  they  git  a  new  minister.  They  're 
ready  to  eat  him  up  for  a  spell.  And  his  wife — law- 
ful sakes !  ther 's  nothing  equil  tew  her.  They  make 
an  awful  parade  about  her.  Such  treatment  spiles  the 
minister's  wives.  Afore  long  they  begin  to  think 


246       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

themselves  the  most  important  characters  in  creation — • 
and  really  expect  the  hull  community  to  be  a  flyin' 
round  all  the  time  to  attend  tew  'em.  And  't  ain't  at 
all  surprisin'  it  should  be  so — it 's  accordin'  to  natur. 
But  after  a  spell,  the  minister  gits  to  be  an  old  story, 
and  the  people  begin  to  find  fault  with  him.  Some 
think  he  's  gittin'  wonderful  tejus ;  some  think  he  ain't 
gifted  in  prayer,  and  he  ain't  sperritual  minded  enough 
to  suit  some  others.  But  the  most  gineral  complaint 
is,  that  he  don't  visit  enough.  As  if  a  minister  could 
write  tew  sarmons  a  week — sometimes  three — and  go 
a  visitin'  every  day  besides.  And  then  his  wife — 't  is 
astonishin'  how  public  opinion  changes  consarnin'  her 
The  upper  crust  begin  to  think  she's  a  troublesome 
helpless  critter.  Say  she  depends  on  the  congregation 
to  take  care  of  her,  and  all  that.  They  pick  flaws  in 
every  thing  she  says  and  does.  And  the  under  crust 
call  her  proud — say  she  visits  Miss  This,  and  don't 
visit  Miss  That  If  she  invites  some  of  her  neighbors 
to  drink  tea  with  her — some  o'  the  rest  '11  be  mad,  be- 
cause she  left  them  out,  and  say,  she  feels  above  'em. 
And  so  it  goes  on — gittin'  woss  and  woss — she  can't 
please  nobody.  After  a  spell,  the  deacons  begin  to 
hint  to  the  minister  that  it 's  gittin'  ruther  hard  to  raise 
his  salary,  and  wonder  whether  or  no  he  could  n't  live 
on  less.  If  he  thinks  he  could  n't,  they  wonder  wheth- 
er or  no  he  could  n't  dew  more  good  in  some  other  place. 
So  at  last  they  drive  him  to  ax  a  dismission,  and  the 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  247 

poor  man  takes  his  family  and  goes  off  somewhere 
else,  to  go  through  with  the  same  trials  and  troubles 
over  again.  And  after  they  Ve  been  settled  about  a 
dozen  "times,  the  minister  begins  to  find  out  that  all 
ain't  gold  that  glitters ;  and  his  wife  if  she  is  a  woman 
o'  sense — discovers  that  she  ain't  a  supernatral  being 
and  must  take  care  of  herself,  like  other  folks. 

That 's  the  experience  o'  ministers  in  gineral.  I 
know  it  by  my  own  observation — and  I  'm  sure  it 
had  ben  the  case  with  the  Scrantums.  They  'd  ben 
settled  in  a  number  o'  places  afore  they  come  here ; 
and  Miss  Scrantum,  herself,  told  me  that  it  took  her  a 
good  while  to  larn  that  a  minister's  life  must  be  a  life 
o'  trial  and  self-denial.  But  she  did  larn  it  at  last. 
Miss  Scrantum  was  an  excellent  woman.  She  wa'n't 
no  gadder  nor  no  gossipper.  She  stayed  to  hum  and 
took  care  of  her  husband  and  children.  If  any  body 
was  sick  or  sufferin',  she  was  there  to  help  'em ;  but 
she  seldom  went  out  any  other  time.  She  was  good 
to  the  poor,  tew — and  divided  her  mite  with  'em. 
You  'd  a  thought  folk?  couldent  find  fault  with  her. 
But  they  did.  Some  grumbled  because  she  w'n't  more 
sociable — and  some  was  mad  because  she  wa'n't  what 
they  called  an  active  Christian — that  is — she  wa'n't  wil- 
lin'  to  spend  the  hef-  o'  her  time  a  runnin'  round  on 
missionary -bisness  and  distribitin'  tracts,  and  so  forth. 
But  every  body  was  outrageous  at  her,  cause  she  tried 
to  reconcile  Liddy  Ann  Buel  and  Deacon  Fustick'a 


248       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

wife — instid  o'  takin'  sides  with  ary  one  on  'em — when 
they  had  that  awful  quarrel  about  the  ostridge  feath- 
ers. But  I  thought — and  think  yet — that  Miss  Scran- 
turn  acted  jest  as  a  Christian  ought  to  act  in  that  biz- 
ness,  though  every  body  else  blamed  her ;  and  Liddy 
Ann  and  Miss  Fustick  got  as  mad  at  her  as  they  was 
at  one  another. 

Parson  Scrantum  was  a  good  man,  tew — and  a 
smart  man — they  dident  know  how  to  vally  him  here. 
To  be  sure  he  went  away  of  his  own  accord ;  but 
I  s'pose  if  he  'd  a  wanted  to  stay,  they  'd  a  druv  him 
off  afore  long — jest  as  they  always  dew — for  husband 
said  chey  was  beginnin'  to  growl  about  pay  in'  the  sal- 
ary. 1  cell  ye,  I  felt  dretful  sorry  when  they  went 
away,  and  so  did  yer  uncle— we  sot  a  great  deal  by 
'em.  And  then  they  had  such  a  nice  family  o'  child- 
ren. Susan,  the  oldest,  is  as  nice  a  gal  as  ever  I 
know'd.  I  took  a  wonderful  likin'  lew  her.  Her 
mother  used  to  let  her  come  in  often  ^nd  set  a  spell 
with  me.  I  was  awful  lonesome  ai'tei  Jefferson  went 
off  to  study  to  be  a  doctor.  Yer  uncle  was  in  the 
shop  biggest  part  o'  the  day,  and  1  use  I  tc  be  here  ail 
stark  alone  a  good  deal  o'  the  time ;  and  when  Miss 
Scrantum  found  out  how  lonesome  1  was  she  used  to 
send  Susan  over  sometimes  to  see  me  She  'd  feteb  her 
sewin'  or  her  knittin'  and  stay  an  hour  or  tew ,  and 
sometimes  she  'd  fetch  a  book  and  read  tew  me,  and  it 
used  to  chirk  me  up  wonderfull/.  And  Mr  Scrantum, 


THE    DONATION    PAETY  249 

he  used  to  coine  in  once  in  a  while,  and  always  had 
somethin'  good  to  say. 

"  You  said  he  went  away  of  his  own  accord,  aunt ; 
how  did  it  happen  ?" 

Well,  I  '11  tell  ye.  "When  they  gin  him  a  call  to  set- 
tle here,  they  agreed  to  give  him  four  hundred  dollars 
a  year  and  a  donation  party  every  winter.  Well,  he 
thought  he  could  live  on  that.  Four  hundred  dollar* 
was  purty  small,  to  te  sure,  but  then  they  was  very 
equinomical  and  industrious — dident  keep  no  hired 
help  —Miss  Scrantum  and  Susan  done  all  the  work 
themselves.  And  they  thought  the  donation  party 
would  be  quite  a  help — they  never  'd  had  none — they 
wa'n't  customary  where  they  come  from.  Well,  they 
managed  to  git  along  through  the  summer  and  fall 
(JThey  come  here  in  the  spring  o'  the  year.)  In  De- 
cember follerin',the  congregation  gin  'em  their  first  do- 
nation party.  I  dident  go  ;  I  never  had  ben  to  none ; 
used  to  kind  o'  want  to  go  sometimes — but  yer  uncle 
wa'n't  willin'  to  have  me — he  never  approved  o'  them 
givin'  visits.  He  thinks  that  when  the  people  want  to 
make  their  minister  a  present,  they  'd  ought  to  give  it 
in  a  private  way,  and  not  go  and  turn  his  house  upside 
down,  to  dew  it  So  I  dident  go  to  that  one.  But  I 
don't  think  the  Scrantums  thought  any  the  less  of  us 
for  it ;  for  they  know'd  we  was  as  willin'  to  dew  well 
by  'em  as  any  o'  the  congregation  was,  for  yer  uncle 
';]  \vays  paid  his  pew  rent  promptly,  and  that 's  more  'n 

ir 


250       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAFEBS. 

some  that  was  richer  done.  And,  besides  that,  we 
often  sent  'em  presents.  They  always  looked  upon  us 
as  the  best  friends  they  had  here. 

Well,  never  heerd  how  the  donation  party  come 
out.  Miss  Scrantum  never  said  nothing  about  it,  and 
I  never  axed  her  no  questions;  only  I  know  that 
through  the  rest  o'  the  winter  the  minister's  folks 
deemed  to  be  more  pinched  than  ever.  I  was  in  there 
quite  often,  and  though  they  did'ent  make  no  com- 
plaints, I  could  see  plain  enough  that  they  had  to 
scrimp  and  save,  and  patch  and  turn  every  way,  to 
keep  any  how  comfortable ;  for  they  had  house-rent 
to  pay,  and  six  children  to  support,  and  it  takes  con- 
siderable to  feed  so  many,  to  say  nothin'  o'  clothm'  and 
eddicatin'  on  'em.  They  had  a  good  deal  o'  company, 
tew,  and  that  costs  something.  You  see  they  had  to 
entertain  all  the  stragglin'  agents  that  come  along,  for 
all  sorts  o'  societies  in  creation.  They  'd  stop  there  to 
save  payin'  tavern  bills.  It 's  the  way  they  always 
dew,  ye  know.  Well,  they  contrived  to  live  along 
till  the  next  winter.  The  time  come  round  for  anoth- 
er donation  party ;  and  I  says  to  yer  uncle,  says  I — 
"Husband,  I  wan't  to  go  to  that  givin'  visit."  UO, 
ehaw,"  says  he,  "  what  do  you  want  to  go  for  ?"  "  O 
says  I,  "  'cause  I  think  so  much  o'  the  minister's  folks." 
"  Well,*'  says  he,  "  that 's  the  principal  reason  why  1 
should  want  to  stay  away  from  the  givin'  visit  myself, 
RS  for  you — of  course  you  can  do  as  ye 


THE    DONATION    PABTY.  251 

"  WelL  then,"  says  I,  "if  you  hain't  no  objections,  I'll 
go ;  and  I  wish  you  'd  go  tew,  jest  for  once.  'T  ain't 
no  use  to  ax  me  to  go,"  says  he  ;  "  it 's  aginst  my  prin 
ciples  ;  I  always  mean  to  dew  all  I  'm  able  to  support 
the  Gospel  and  help  the  minister ;  but  as  for  them 
lee*— I  won't  countenance  'em  by  my  presence — that's 
all ;  and  let  me  tell  ye  one  thing,  if  you  go,  I  '11  bet  a 
oookey  you'll  wish  you  hadent  a  went  afterward." 
"  Well  that 's  my  look  out,"  says  I.  "  If  you  're  wil- 
lin'— I  '11  go."  "  And  what  '11  ye  take  ?"  says  he,  "  a 
stick  o'  tape,  or  a  pint  of  emptins,  or  what?"  "No,  I 
won't,"  says  I,  "  I  '11  take  something  o'  more  vally  than 
to.".  "  Then  you  '11  be  odd,"  "says  he. 

So  after  considerin'  a  spell,  I  concluded  te  git,  what 
Miss  Scrantum  needed  about  as  much  as  any  thing,  and 
that  was  a  new  buunit.  She  wore  a  shabby,  faded  old 
thing,  that  looked  as  if  it  came  over  in  the  ark.  Well, 
I  thought  I  could  git  a  ginteelei  one  in  Harristown, 
than  I  could  by  havin'  on  't  made  here.  So  I  got  yer 
uncle  to  harness  up  the  hoss  for  me,  one  afternoon, 
and  bein'  as  he  was  tew  busy  to  go  with  me  himself,  I 
went  over  and  axed  Susan  Scrantum  to  go  'long ;  I 
thought  she  could  help  me  about  pickin'  on  't  out 
She  'd  be  likely  to  know  what  would  suit  her  mother. 
So  I  goes  over  and  calls  for  Susan.  She  was  delighted 
to  go— she  dident  git  a  chance  to  ride  very  often. 
Well,  we  druv  to  Harristown,  and  went  into  the  best 
'ookin1  milliner's  shop  therwas  there.  "Now,  Susy,r 


252  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS 

says  I  "  I  'm  a  gwine  to  git  a  new  bunr.it,  and  I  want 
your  advice  about  what  to  choose."  ""Why,  Mias 
Magwire,"  says  she,  "  I  thought  you  load  quite  a  nice 
one  a  ready."  "  Well,  it  is  middliu'  nice,"  says  I, 
"but  I ?ve  wore  it  tew  winters,  and  some  ladies  gits  a 
new  one  every  winter,  ye  know.  So  we  examined 
all  the  bunnits  in  the  shop,  and  I  axed  Susan  which 
she  liked  the  best.  "  I  should  think  that  one  would  be 
very  purty  for  you,"  says  she,  pintin'  to  a  plum-color- 
ed satin  one  that  hung  on  a  peg.  ;<  It  *s  ma's  favorite 
color,  and  that  makes  me  like  it."  Now  that  was  jest 
what  I  wanted  to  know.  So  I  axed  the  milliner  to 
hand  it  down,  and  I  tried  it  on,  for  I  reckoned  if  't 
would  fit  me,  't  would  fit  Miss  ocrantum — she  was 
about  my  size — and  it  did  fit  nicely,  so  I  bought  it.  I 
had  to  pay  six  dollars  for 't — quite  a  launch  out  for  me 
— more  'n  ever  I  paid  for  a  bunnit  for  myself.  Susan 
looked  as  if  she  thought  I  was  ruther  extravagant,  but 
she  did  n't  say  nothing.  Well,  I  put  it  in  a  bandbox 
I  fetcht,  and  we  went  hum.  When  yer  uncle  come  in 
I  showed  it  tew  him,  and  he  was  quite  pleasd  with  it ; 
and  '2  was  a  clear  beauty,  plum-colored  satin,  trimmed 
off  with  a  ribbin  the  same  color,  and  lace  borderin', 
with  white  satin  bows  between,  all  quilled  round  the 
inside.  I  axed  yer  uncle  if 't  was  more  expensive 
than  he  was  willin'  I  should  give.  "  No,"  says  he,  "  I 
don't  begrudge  the  money.  I  want  you  to  dew  the 
hansome  thing ;  but 't  would  suit  me  a  groat  deal  bet 


THE    DONATION    PARTY  253 

ter  if  70  a  wait  till  the  next  day  and  then  take  it  over." 
*'O  husband,"  says  I,  "I've  got  my  heart  sot  on  at- 
teadiiT  the  party ;  dew  lemme  go."  "  Well,  go."  says 
he,  "if  you're  beset  tew;  but  mark  my  words,  I'll 
bet  a  dollar  you  '11  wish  you  had  n't  a  went." 

"Well,  the  day  afore  the  party  Jefferson  come  hum 
to  stay  a  few  days.  I  told  him  I  was  gwine  to  the 
donation  party,  and  he  said  he  'd  like  no  better  fun 
than  to  go  with  me.  Jeff's  always  ready  to  go,  you 
know.  So  he  went  and  got  a  ream  o'  nice  paper  for  the 
parson  to  write  his  sermons  on.  At  last  the  day  came, 
and  I  and  Jeff,  we  started  off  for  the  party.  We 
went  quite  early  in  the  evenin',  for  I  wanted  to  be 
there  'fore  't  was  crowded.  Ther  hadent  nobody  come 
when  we  got  there,  only  three  or  four  ladies,  that  was 
a  gittin'  the  supper  ready.  There  was  Glory  Ann 
Billins,  and  Polly  Mariar  Stillman,  and  Jo  Gipson's 
wife,  and  old  mother  Parker  a  settin'  the  table.  You 
know  at  them  kind  o'  dewins  they  always  have  a  sup- 
per sot  for  the  company.  The  congregation  provides 
the  entertainment  ginerally,  but  in  this  place  the 
minister's  wife  has  to  find  a  good  share  on  't.  Miss 
Scrantum  found  the  tea  and  coffee,  and  sugar  and 
cream,  and  butter,  and  so  forth.  Some  o'  the  neigh- 
oors  sent  in  cake  and  pies,  and  cheese  and  biscuit 
But  Miss  Scrantum  was  afeared  ther  wouldent  be 
enough  o'  the  cake  and  pies — so  she  sent  to  the  baker's 
Vid  got  a  mess  more.  Well,  I  axed  Miss  Gipson 


254:  WIDO\*     BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

where  we  should  put  our  donations,  and  she  told  as 
to  take  'em  in  the  parlor  and  lay  'em  on  the  table. 
Ther  was  a  table  there  a  purpose  to  put  the  dry  goods 
on.  The  provisions  was  carried  into  the  store-room. 
So  we  went  in  there  and  laid  'em  on  the  table.  The 
bunnit  was  pinned  up  in  a  newspaper.  Jeff  he  sot 
down,  and  I  started  off  to  find  Miss  Scrantum.  I  found 
her  in  the  kitchen  a  makin'  coffee.  She  looked  dret- 
ful  tired  and  beat  out.  I  was  real  sorry  I  hadent  a 
went  sooner  and  helped  her.  She  was  wonderful  glad 
to  see  me ;  and  I  told  her  to  go  and  dress  herself,  and 
I  'd  make  the  coffee.  So  she  thanked  me  and  went — 
and  I  took  hold  and  made  the  coffee.  Ther  was  an 
awful  sight  on 't ;  I  never  made  so  much  afore  in  all 
my  born  days,  and  I  never  expect  to  agin.  7T  was 
made  in  Miss  Scrantum's  biler.  She  'd  scoured  it  up 
for  the  occasion.  'T  was  a  biler  that  held  ten  pails 
full — and  it  was  brimmin  full  o'  coffee.  After  I  'd  got 
it  made,  I  went  back  into  the  sittin'-room.  They  'd 
got  the  table  all  sot.  Ther  was  lots  o'  cake,  and  bis- 
cuit, and  pies,  and  cold  meat,  and  all  sorts  o'  stuff. 
Then  I  went  into  the  parlor,  and  lo  and  behold,  Jo 
Gipson's  wife  and  Miss  Parker  had  on  did  the  bunnit, 
and  was  admirin'  on  't  at  a  wonderful  rate.  Jest  then 
Mr.  and  Miss  Scrantum  and  the  children  3ome  in,  and 
dear  me  I  how  pleased  they  were  with  the  bunnit 
Miss  Scrantum,  she  tried  it  on,  and  it  fitted  her  to  a  T. 
But  Susan !  you  'd  ought  to  seen  Susan  I  She  jumped 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  255 

and  frisked  abound,  and  lident  hardly  know  what  to 
cbw  with  herself,  she  ^.yas  so  delighted.  "0,  Miss 
Magwire."  says  she,  "  that  beautiful  bunnit  wasn't  for 
you  after  all,  was  it  ?  What  a  dear  good  woman  you 
ere  to  make,  ma  such  a  fine  present.  She  '11  look  as 
nica  as  any  body  now — won't  you  ma?"  They  seemed 
wondsrfiil  leased  to  see  Jefferson,  tew ;  and  Mr. 
Scrantuin  was  very  glad  to  git  the  paper — said  't  was 
jist  what  he  wanted.  "Well,  purty  soon  the  company 
begun  to  come,  and  they  come  pourin'  in  thicker  and 
faster  till  the  house  was  crammed.  The  settln'-room 
door  was  locked,  so  as  to  keep  'em  out  o'  there  till 
riupper  was  ready — and  I  tell  ye  all  the  rest  c'  the 
house  was  jest  as  full  as  it  could  stick.  The  parlor  and 
the  hall  and  the  bed-rooms  was  all  ciowded  and  cram- 
med. You  'd  a  thought  from  the  number  o'  folks 
that  was  there,  that  ther  'd  been  a  wonderful  sight  o' 
donations  brought — but  as  true  as  I  'm  a  livin'  critter 
-  that  table  wa'n't  half  fall.  But  then  ther  was  a 
good  many  families  that  fetcht  one  article  to  answer 
for  the  hull.  For  instance,  Deacon  Skinner  and  his 
wife  and  four  darters  and  tew  sons  was  all  there — and 
Miss  Skinner  fetcht  a  skein  o'  yarn  to  knit  Parson 
Scrantum  seme  socks.  Miss  Hopkins  and  her  three 
darters  and  her  son  and  his  wife,  that  was  a  visitin'  her, 
and  their  three  children  all  come — and  Miss  Hopkins 
brought  half  a  pound  o'  tea.  And  the  Eunyons  with 
their  four  young  ones — what  do  you  think  they 


256       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

brought?  why,  Miss  Bunyon  fetcht  a  little  fancy 
basket  to  stick  on  the  center-table  and  put  visitin' 
cards  in.  And  the  Miss  Footes,  three  on  'em  they 
brought  Miss  Scrantum  a  pair  o'  cuffs.  And  all  the 
Binghams,  they  fetcht  a  neck  ribbon  for  Susan.  And 
Deacon  Peabody  and  his  tribe,  thei  's  as  much  as  a 
dozen  on  'em,  they  brought  a  sma1!  cheese.  I  heeid 
afterward  that  half  o'  it  was  a  donation  and  t'  other 
half  was  to  go  for  pew  rent.  And  Cappen  Smalley  and 
all  his  children  was  there.  He  fetch  a  box  o'  raisins 
out  o'  his  store,  ther  was  twelve  pound  in  'I,  and  Susan 
told  me  afterward  that  ten  pound  was  to  go  toward 
pew  rent  and  the  rest  was  a  present.  The  Widder 
Grimes  and  Charity  was  there,  of  course.  They 
dident  go  nigh  the  donation  table  for  some  time,  and 
I  was  kind  o'  curus  to  know  whether  they  'd  brought 
any  thing,  and  so  I  watch'd  'em,  and  bimebye,  I  ob- 
served Charity  go  up  slily,  when  she  thought  nobody 
did  n't  see,  and  lay  a  little  paper  on  the  table,  I  had 
the  curiosity  to  see  what  was  in  it,  so  as  soon  as  I  get 
a  chance  I  took  up  the  paper  and  peeped  into  't,  and 
lo  and  behold  !  there  were  two  skeins  o'  thread !  did 
you  ever  ?  Widder  Grimes  is  well  off,  but  she  's  tew 
stingy  to  be  decent,  and  Charity 's  jest  like  her.  Then 
there  was  ever  so  many  belonging  to  ether  denomina- 
tions, that  dident  bring  nothin' ;  the}  come  to  show 
their  good  will,  to  let  folks  see  that  they  wa'n't  bigoted 
and  prejudiced  though  they  did  differ  in  a  religious 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  257 

pint  o'  view,  and  git  their  supper.  And  besides  them, 
I  noticed  a  great  many  that  I  never  see  before — no- 
body knows  where  they  come  from  nor  where  they 
went  tew.  1  guess  they  must  a  been  raised  up  for  the 
occasion.  And  then  ther  was  an  awiul  sight  c'  chil- 
dren that  straggled  in  from  every  where.  Doctor 
Lippincott,  he  was  there,  bowin'  and  scrapin'  rcund  as 
usual — awfully  anxious  about  every  body's  health; 
arid  his  wife,  tew,  as  much  consarned  as  he  was — and 
their  promisin'  red-headed  boy,  and  interestin'  darter, 
Anny  Marier,  with  her  six  starched  skirts  on — takin' 
up  more  room  than  ary  ten  decent  drest  girls  in  the 
room.  The  doctor  always  goes  to  all  the  donation 
parties  for  fifteen  miles  round,  to  make  himself  popilar, 
but  nobody  knows  of  his  ever  takin'  any  thin'.  On 
this  occasion,  Anny  Mariar  took  a  book-mark  to  Mr. 
Scrautum,  with  a  thing  on  it  that  looked  like  a  chop- 
pint-knife,  and  2  mess  o'  French  nonsense  below  it 
But  the  greatest  part  o'  the  performance  was  the  semi 
nary  gals  and  their  donation.  Ther  was  twenty -five 
on  'em,  and  what  do  you  suppose  they  fetcht  ?  Why, 
the  hull  kit  and  cargo  on  'em  had  conspired  together 
and  made  a  rag  baby  for  little  Adeline  Scrantum,  and 
rigged  it  up  in  gauze  and  tinsel,  and  thev.  all  come 
togethei  and  brought  that.  Miss  Pinch  em,  their 
teacher,  wa'n't  there.  She  was  sick  o'  somethin'.  I 
£uess  if  she  had  a  come,  she  'd  a  kept  'em  a  little 
straighter.  Land  o'  liberty!  I  never  see  such  an 


258  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

actin'  set  o'  critters  in  all  my  born  days! 
carried  on  like  all  possesst  I  see  some  on  'em  a 
flourishin'  round  Jeff — he 's  always  ready  for  a  scrape, 
you  know — and  I  was  afeared  lie  'd  git  to  carryin'  on 
with  'em  and  I  wouldent  a  had  him  for  any  thing,  so 
I  gin  him  a  caution.  "  Je^/'  says  I,  "  you  let  them 
seminary  galls  alone ;  they  're  a  wild  set ;  't  ain't 
proper  to  cut  up  so  in  the  minister's  house."  Jeff 
promised  to  keep  clear  on  'em— he  generally  does  as 
I  want  him  tew.  I  '11  say  that  much  for  Jefferson,  he 's 
always  been  good  about  mindin'.  But  it  went  hard 
with  him  to  dew  it  then  ;  he  was  ripe  for  fun,  and 
determined  to  let  off  the  steam  some  way  or  other. 
So  he  looks  round  and  he  sees  Charity  Grimes  stuck 
up  on  the  settee  't  other  side  o'  the  room.  Stiff  as  a 
poker  and  prim  as  a,  pea-pod — you  know  what  a 
starched  up,  affected  old  critter  she  is.  Jeff  went  to 
school  tew  her  when  he  was  little  and  she  snapped 
his  ears  and  cuffed  him  round,  so  he  's  always  hated 
her  like  pizen  ever  since.  She 's  ben  tryin'  this  twenty 
year  to  git  married  and  can't  make  it  out.  She  'c| 
chased  after  Squire  Fuller  ever  since  his  wife  died, 
Squire  Fuller  got  married  about  a  month  afore  that — 
and  yer  uncle  says  he  verily  believes  he  did  it  in  self- 
defense,  jest  to  get  rid  o'  Charity  Grimes — she  bother'd 
him  to  death ;  he  couldent  go  out  in  company  but 
what  she  'd  contrive  to  hook  on  to  him.  He  's  a  very 
p^rlite  man,  the  Squire  is,  and  he  dident  want  tew  be 


THE    DONATION    PARPF.  259 

rude  to  her.  "bit  he  couldent  bear  her,  though  she  tried 
hard  to  make  folks  think  he  was  her  beaux.  At  last 
he  got  married,  quite  suddenly,  to  a  young  woman  in 
Chenang  county ;  and  yer  uncle  says  he  don't  believe 
he  'd  a  done  it,  if  it  hadent  a  ben  to  get  rid  o'  Charity 
Grimes ;  for  his  wife  had  ben  dead  five  year,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  uncommon  contented  for  a  uriddiwer. 
But  I  was  gwine  to  tell  you  what  Jeff  done.  He  see 
Charity  a  sittin'  there  a  tryin'  to  dew  the  agreeable  to 
Cappen  Smalley  (his  wife  hadent  been  dead  long — • 
by  the  way,  they  'd  make  a  good  match,  wouldent 
they?)  Well,  Jeff  says  to  me,  says  he— "  Mother, 
may  I  go  stir  up  Charity  Grimes  ?"  "  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean  by  stirrin'  on  her  up,"  says  I.  "  0," 
says  he,  "  I  jest  want  to  condole  with  her  a  little  on 
the  loss  o'  Squire  Fuller."  "No,"  says  I,  "you 
needent  dew  no  such  thing ;  't  would  be  very  im- 
proper, indeed,  and  very  aggravating  tew."  "  Well," 
says  he,  "  may  n't  I  jest  go  and  talk  a  little  Shake- 
speare tew  her  ?  (Jeff 's  always  quotin'  Shakespeare, 
you  know.)  "  I  'm  afeerd  you  '11  say  something  sassy," 
says  I.  "  No  I  won't,"  says  he.  "  I  '11  be  all-killin1 
perlite."  "  Well -go,  then,"  says  L  So  off  he  steps, 
demure  as  a  deacon.  "  Good  evenin',  Miss  Grimes," 
says  he.  "Good  evenin',  Mr.  Magwire,"  says  she. 
"  It  seems  like  old  times  to  see  you  agin,"  says  he; 
and  then  he  obsarved  to  Cappen  Smalley — "  I  used  to 
go  to  school  to  Miss  Grimes  when  I  was  young.' 


260  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

Charity  puckered  up  her  mouth  and  grinned,  and  says 
she.  "  Yes,  you  was  quite  a  boy  then— -and  I  was  a 
mere  child  myself,  exceedingly  youthful  for  a  teacher.7' 
"  Well,"  says  Jeff,  says  he,  "you  hain't  altered  a  spek 
since — you  hold  your  own  amazingly — you  -looked 
every  bit  as  old  then  as  you  dew  now ;  but  how  do 
joufeel  about  these  days  ?"  "Feel!"  says  she,  pickin' 
up  her  ears,  "I  feel  as  well  as  common — why  should- 
ent  I?"  "  Excuse  me,"  says  Jeff,  "  I  only  axed  be- 
cause I  did  n't  know  but  you  felt  ruther  nonplussed, 
put  to  't  for  business  as  it  were,  since  Squire  Fuller 
got  married.  '  Old  feller's  ocerpation  's  gone'  now,  I 
s'pose,  as  Shakespeare  says."  Gracious !  how  mad 
Charity  was !  She  brustled  up  like  a  settin'  hen,  and, 
says  she — "Jeff  Magwire,  I  don't  care  a  straw  for 
what  Shakespeare  nor  none  o'  the  rest  o'  your  rowdy 
acquaintances  says  about  me,  I  'm  above  it  ;*  but  who- 
ever he  is,  you  may  tell  him  he  's  an  impudent  puppy, 
for  call  in'  a  young  lady  an  old  feller — and  you  're 
another  for  tellin'  on  't."  So  she  got  up  and  flounced 
out  into  the  hall.  The  folks  all  giggled  and  seemed 
wonderful  tickled;  but  Jeff,  he  looked  round  as 
astonished  as  he  could  be,  and  says  he — "  I  wonder 
what  ails  Miss  Grimes.  I  thought  for  the  life  OT  me 
she  was  a  gwine  to  snap  my  ears,  as  she  used  to  when 
I  was  young."  I  was  vexed  at  Jeff,  and  took  him  to 
task  as  soon  as  I  got  a  chance;  but  he  declared 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  261 

't  wa'n't  "  old  feller"  he  said,  but  sometliin'  else— how- 
ever, it  sounded  jest  like  it,  any  way. 

J  ust  then  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  we  was 
invited  cut  to  supper.  So  we  went  squeezin'  and 
croivdin'  into  the  settin'-room.  Some  o'  the  folks 
pushed  and  jammed  as  if  they  were  afeared  they 
shouldent  git  the  best  chance.  Glory  Am.  Billins  sot 
at  one  end  o'  the  table  a  pourin'  coffee,  and  Jo  Grip- 
son's  wife  at  the  't  other  end  a  pourin'  tea ;  and  I  tell 
ye,  't  was  as  much  as  ever  they  could  dew  to  pour  it 
fast  enough.  Jeff,  he  flew  round  and  helped  the 
ladies.  For  my  part,  I  dident  feel  like  eatin'  much — 
I  was  jammed  up  agin  the  wall  and  couldent  stir  hand 
nor  foot.  So  I  told  Jeff  to  fetch  me  a  cup  o'  tea  and 
nut-cake,  and  he  did ;  and  I  took  'em  and  managed  to 
eat  the  nut-cake,  but  somebody  hit  my  elbow  and 
made  me  spili  the  heft  o'  the  tea ;  so  I  stood  and  held 
my  empty  cup,  and  looked  on  to  seo  the  performance. 
I  say  for  't  if  't  wa'n't  worth  seein',  I  'm  mistaken. 
Why,  if  I  was  a  starvin'  to  death,  I  shouldent  be 
willin'  to  act  as  some  o'  them  folks  did.  They  pushed, 
and  elbowed,  and  pulled,  and  hauled,  and  grabbed 
like  crazy  critters.  'T  was  amusin'  to  see  'em  put 
down  the  vittals — I  'd  a  gin  a  sixpence,  Nancy  to  had 
you  there ;  't  would  a  ben  fun  for  you  to  look  on  and 
see  the  dewins.  You  'd  a  thought  the  biggest  part  o' 
the  company  hadent  had  nothin'  to  eat  since  the  last 


262       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

donation  party,  and  dident  expect  to  have  notLin 
more  till  the  next  one. 

The  wimmin,  as  a  general  thing,  took  tea,  and  eat 
the  cake  and  pies,  and  so  forth.  And  the  men,  they 
let  into  the  coffee,  and  biscuit,  and  cheese,  and  cold 
meat,  and  such  like.  I  actilly  see  Deacon  Skinner 
drink  six  cups  o'  soffee.  and  eat  in  proportion.  And 
Dr.  Lippincott,  my  grief!  'twas  perfectly  astonishur 
to  me  that  one  mortal  body  could  hold  as  much  as 
that  man  put  in — no  wonder  he  's  so  fat — they  say  he 
gits  the  heft  of  his  livin'  away  from  home — contrives 
to  git  to  one  patient's  house  jest  as  dinner 's  ready, 
and  to  another's  jest  at  tea  time,  and  so  eats  with  'em. 
And  I  wish  you  'd  a  seen  the  Widder  Grimes.  Gram- 
many  !  how  the  critter  did  stuff!  I  took  partickler 
notice  of  her,  and  I  see  she  had  an  awful  great  work- 
bag  on  her  arm,  and  every  little  while  she  'd  contrive 
to  tuck  a  piece  into  't  when  she  thought  nobody  wa'n't 
a  lookin'.  As  soon  as  I  got  a  chance,  I  hunched  Jeff, 
and  says  I — "For  pitty 's  sake,  Jeff,  do  obsarve  the 
Widder  Grimes."  So  Jeff,  he  watched  her  a  spell. 
"  By  George !"  says  he,  "  if  that  ain't  rich  1"  I  tell 
ye,  't  was  fun  for  Jeff.  Bimeby — after  she  'd  got  her 
bag  purty  well  filled,  says  Jeff  to  me,  says  he — "Now, 
mother,  may  I  stir  her  up  a  little  ?"  "  I  don't  care," 
says  I.  So  he  reached  forrard  and  hollered  across  the 
table  tew  her,  loud  enough  for  every  body  to  hear — 
"Miss  Grimes,  may  I  come  to  your  party?"  "My 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  263 

party  ?"  sayfc  she;  "what  do  you  mean?"  f{Why," 
says  JefP  says  he,  "  I  reckoned  from  the  size  o'  youi 
bag,  and  the  quantity  o'  provissicns  you  was  a  layrn' 
in,  that  you  was  a  calculatin'  to  make  a  party,  and  I 
thought  I  ;d  like  to  come."  Every  body  looked  at 
Miss  Grimes ;  and,  I  tell"  ye,  she  looked  as  if  she  'd 
like  to  crawl  into  some  knot-hole — and  I  don't  know 
but  what  she  did,  for  she  made  her  disappearance 
amazin1  soon  after.  And,  then,  them  seminary  gals — 
gracious  !  how  they  did  eat )  I  s'pose  they  was  half- 
starved  at  Miss  Pincuem's.  Afore  long  the  table  was 
purty  well  cleared,  and  Miss  Scrantum  had  to  go  to 
the  buttry  and  bring  on  all  't  was  left.  I  guess  e\  ery 
thing  in  the  house  that  could  be  eat,  without  stoppin' 
to  cook,  it,  was  made  way  with  that  night.  When 
the  seminary  gals  had  eat  all  they  wanted,  they 
amused  themselves  a  throwin'  hunks  o'  cheese  and 
buttered,  biscuit  at  the  young  men.  After  most  o'  the 
other  eatables  had  been  disposed  of,  Dave  Runyon, 
great  gump !  went  into  the  buttry  and  brought  out 
the  box  o'  raisins  that  was  to  go  toward  Cappen  Smal- 
ley's  pew-rent,  and  handed  'em  round.  Every  body 
grabbed,  especially  the  seminary  gals,  and  children, 
till  ther  wa'n't  one  left  in  the  box.  When  supper  was 
about  finished,  Jane  Elizy  Fustick  (she 's  always  a 
tryin'  to  dew  something  cunnin'),  she  went  into  the 
Bto-re-room  and  got  a  chain  o'  sassages,  that  old  Miss 
Crocker  brought,  and  come  along  slily  and  throw 'd 


234      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS, 

it  round  Liph  Peabody'  s  shoulders.  Liph,  bfj  wae  a 
standin'  by  the  tea  boart'  a  drinkin'  a  cup  o'  coffee. 
When  he  felt  the  sassages  come  floppin'  round  his 
Q'.?/k,  he  was  skairt,  and  whisked  round  suddenly  and 
hij  the  tea-board,  and  knocked  it  off  onto  the  floor, 
and  smash  went  every  thing  on  it !  What  made  it 
mere  aggravatin'  was,  ther  was  a  dozen  chany  cupa 
and  sarcers  on  it  that  Miss  Scrantum  had  fetcht  out 
after  the  folks  come  out  to  supper.  They  was  some 
that  she  sot  a  great  deal  by ;  her  mother  giv  'em  te-w 
her,  and  her  mother  was  dead.  She  dident  bring  'em 
on  at  first,  for  fear  they  'd  git  broke.  She  sot  on  all 
her  common  crockery,  and  borrerd  a  good  deal  at 
Smalley's  store,  ealculatia'  if  any  on 't  was  broke  to 
pay  for 't.  But  when  she  see  so  many  folks  come 
crowdin'  jut,  she  was  afeard  ther  wouldent  be  cups 
enough,  so  she  fetcht  out  her  mother's  chany  cups  and 
sot  'em  on  the  tea-board.  But  Glory  Ann  got  along 
without  usin'  'em,  and  there  they  sot,  and  when  the 
tea-board  fell,  they  fell  tew,  and  every  on  3  m  'em 
was  broke  or  cracked.  Gracious !  how  Miss  Scrantrm 
looked  when  she  see  her  precious  chany  all  to  pieces. 
She  dident  say  a  word,  but  her  lips  quivered,  and  she 
trembled  all  over.  But  she  seemed  to  overcome  it  in 
a  minnit,  and  went  away  and  brought  a  basket  and 
begun  to  pick  up  the  pieces,  and  Jeff  and  I  took  hold 
and  helped  her.  A  good  many  o'  the  company  had 
gone  back  into  the  parlor ;  but  ther  was  enough  left 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  265 

to  track  the  sassage  round,  and,  my  goodness!  what 
work  they  made  with  'em  !  While  we  was  a  pickin' 
up  the  crockery,  all  of  a  sudden  ther  was  a  terrible  hul- 
lerballoo  in  the  parlor — Jeff  and  me  rushed  in  to  see 
what  was  the  matter,  and  gracious  granfather !  what 
do  you  s;pose  it  was  ?  Why  one  o'  them  pesky  sem- 
inary gals  had  throw'd  a  hunk  o'  cheese  and  hit  Miss 
Scrantum's  parlor  lamp  that  was  a  settin'  on  the  table, 
and  knocked  it  over  and  broke  it  all  to  flinders.  But 
that  wa'n't  the  wost  on  't — where  it  tumbled  over  it 
fell  right  onto  that  plum-colored  sattin  bunnit,  and  the 
ile  run  all  over  it  in  a  minnit.  Afore  any  body  could 
ketch  the  bunnit,  one  side  on 't,  ribbon  and  all,  was 
completely  ruined.  Such  a  sight  as  't  was,  you  never 
sot  your  tew  lookin'  eyes  on !  All  the  ile  that  dident 
go  onto  the  bunnit  was  soaked  up  in  the  paper  that 
Jeff  took,  that  was  a  lyin'  right  aside  on  't,  and  the 
biggest  part  o'  that  was  spiled  tew.  My  grief!  how  I 
did  feel  when  I  see  that  beautiful  bunnit  in  such  a 
condition !  And  poor  Miss  Scrantum  turned  pale  as 
death,  and  Susan  cried  like  every  thing.  I  axed  Sam 
Lippincott  (the  doctor's  red-headed  boy)  who  'twas 
that  throwed  the  cheese — he  pinted  out  the  gal,  and  I 
goes  up  to  her,  and,  says  I — "  You  good-for-nothin' 
little  huzzy  hain't  you  no  better  manner  i  than  to  be  a 
throwin'  cheese  at  other  folkses  lamps  in  that  way  ?" 
She  was  a  real  sassy  little  thing,  and  dident  care  a 
straw  for  what  she'd  done.  She  looked  up  and 
12 


266  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS, 

grinned  as  imperdent  as  could  be,  and  says  she-  — "  Ex 
cuse  me,  marm — I  had  n't  the  most  remote  idee  o' 
hittin'  the  lamp.  I  meant  to  aim  at  Sam  Lippincott's 
head,  and  mistook  the  lamp  for  it.  I  'm  sure  you 
can't  blame  me  for  makin  sich  a  natral  mistake."  Did 
you  ever !  I  was  a  good  mind  to  hit  her  a  cuff  aside 
o'  the  head,  but  I  dident.  I  told  Miss  Pinchem  on  't, 
though,  the  next  day — and  she  punished  the  huzzy 
by  keepin'  her  on  bread  nnd  water  a  week.  Jeff  said 
't  was  a  very  equinomical  kind  o'  punishment.  Well, 
the  party  broke  up  purty  soon  after  this  scrape,  and 
Jeff  and  me  went  hum.  Jeff  went  off  to  bed.  Yer 
uncle  was  out ;  dear  me  I  how  I  did  dread  meetiu' 
him!  Afore  long  he  come  in.  "Well,"  says  he, 
"  how  did  the  party  go  off?"  "  0,  well  enough,"  says 
I;  "but  I'm  tired  and  sleepy,  and  we  won't  talk 
about  it  to-night."  The  fact  is,  I  felt  tew  mean  to  tell 
him  the  truth — but  in  the  mornin',  when  Jeff  come 
down,  he  let  it  all  out.  My  grief!  how  yer  uncle  did 
crow  over  me.  "Didn't  I  tell  ye  so?"  says  he; 
"don't  ye  wish  you  hadn't  a  went?"  "Yes,"  says  I, 
"  if  it 's  any  satisfaction  tew  ye  to  know  it— I  dew 
wish  so."  "  I  know'd  ye  would,"  says  he.  I  verily 
believe  he  was  glad  the  bunnit  got  spiled. 

The  next  rnornin',  as  soon  as  I  got  my  chores  done 
up,  I  went  over  to  Mr.  Scrantum's  to  see  how  they 
come  on,  and  help  'emregilate  a  little.  Murder-alive  I 
such  a  sight  as  that  house  was,  from  one  end  to  t'  other, 


THE    DONATION    PABTT.  267 

I  never  sot  my  tew  lookin'  eyes  on!  The  carpets 
wag  all  greased  up  with  butter,  and  cheese,  and  sassa- 
gea,  A  nJ  then  the  lamp  ile  had  done  more  mischief 
than  we  know'd  on  the  night  afore.  It  had  run  off 
the  table  and  made  a  cruel  great  spot  on  the  best  car- 
pet ;  and  I  found  Miss  S^rantum  a  tryin'  tc  wash  it 
crit  I  sot  tew  and  helped  her — but  't  want  no  use-1 — 
't  wculdent  cQme  out.  Susan,  she  was  a  settin'  on  a 
Lttle  stool  a  scoirin'  teaspoons,  and  cryin'  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  "What's  the  matter,  dear?" 
bays  I — but  the  poor  child  couldent  answer  me.  So 
her  iiicther  said  she  was  a  cryin'  about  the  bunnit 
hein' : piled.  "No  wonder."  says  I,  "it's  enough  to 
makf  any  body  cry.  I  s:pose  you  can't  dew  nothin' 
with  the  bunnit,  can  you?"  "0,  yes,"  says  Miss 
Scrantum,  says  she ;  "  I  've  ben  lookin'  at  it  this  morn- 
in',  and  I  think  I  can  get  enough  out  of  it  to  make  a 
bag  of.  It  '11  make  a  very  nice  bag — and  I  shall  keep 
it  as  long  as  I  live,  for  your  sake,  Miss  Maguire."  I 
looked  at  the  woman  with  surprise.  There  she  sot 
or  the  floor,  a  rubbin'  avay  at  that  grease  spot,  and  a 
ta-Kin'  as  calmly  about  thji  ?ix  dollar  bunnit,  as  if 
it  hadent  a  cost  more 'n  SV.T,  e-ents.  I' was  kind  o' 
vext.d  a  her  for  not  makin'  mort,  fuss  about  it.  I  ac 
tilly  begun  to  think  she  hadent  no  fcelin',  and  dident 
care  for  nothing.  "  And  then,"  say 8  I  "  to  think  o' 
th?i  r  breakin'  your  beautiful  chany — 'twas  shameful 
—-a  present  from  her  mother  tew;  and  you  sot  so 


268       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

much  by  it;  ancLIVe  heerd  ye  say 'twas  the  last 
thing  yer  mother  ever  giv  ye."  I  was  a  runnm'  on  in 
that  way  when  I  thought  I  heerd  Miss  Scrant  irn  sob 
— I  looked  up  and  she  was  a  cryin'  dretfully.  She 
couldent  hold  in  no  longer  when  T  spoke  o'  the  chany. 
I  was  sorry  I  said  a  word  about  it ;  but  it  convinced 
me  that  Miss  Scrantum  had  feelins,  deep  feelins  ;  but 
she  ?d  larn't  to  control  'em,  poor  woman  1  Well,  I 
stayed  a  spell  and  helped  'em  clean  up,  and  then  I 
went  hum.  Susan  went  to  the  door  with  me.  When 
we  got  outside,  I  axed  her  whether  ther  was  many 
provisions  brought  in  the  night  afore.  She  told  me 
co  come  to  the  store-room  and  look.  So  I  went  into 't 
and  took  a  view,  and  there  was  tew  or  three  punkins, 
a  couple  o'  spare  ribs  (spare  enough,  tew,  I  tell  ye), 
three  or  four  cabbages,  a  chicken,  what  was  left  o; 
Deacon  Peabody's  cheese,  and  a  codfish.  ''Is  that 
all?"  says  I.  "Yes,"  says  Susan,  "and  half  o'  the 
cheese,  and  one  o'  the  spare  ribs  and  the  chicken  are 
to  go  for  pew-rent — I  heerd  pa  tell  ma  s<^ ;  but  you 
mustent  let  'em  know  I  told  you  about  it — for  they  'd 
think  it  wrong  for  me  to  speak  of  it ;  you  won't  to'l 
em,  will  you,  Miss  Maguire ?"  "No,  dariinV  says  I, 
"  I  won't  let  it  out."  So  I  w  ent  hum — and  as  I  ~v^i\  t 
along  considerin'  the  matter,  I  come  to  a  unammiut 
conclusion  in  my  own  mind,  that  donation  parties  UMU 
a  humbug 
Well,  the  uext  Sunday  Parson  Scrantum  requested 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  269 

the  male  members  of  his  congregation  to  meet  him 
the  next  evenin'  at  the  meetin'-house.  Yer  uncle 
went  to  the  meetin'.  I  was  in  a  wonderful  fidgit  to 
know  what  was  the  object  on  't — and  quite  impatient 
for  husband  to  come  hum.  When  he  come  I  obsarved 
he  was  oncommonly  tickled  about  something.  "  What 
is  the  matter?  dew  tell,  for  pity's  sake,"  says  L 
"  Why,  the  minister's  axed  a  dismission,"  says  he. 
"You  don't!"  says  I.  "Jest  so,"  says  he;  and  then 
he  haw-haw'd  out  a  laffin.  "  What  ails  ye,  man  alive  ?" 
says  I ;  "  I  don't  see  what  ther  is  to  laff  at  in  that ;  for 
my  part,  I  look  upon  't  as  a  great  misfortin  to  Scrabble 
Hill,  to  lose  such  a  minister  as  Parson  Scrantum.  I  'm 
astonished  to  see  you  laff."  "  Well,  you  won't  be," 
says  he,  "  when  I  tell  ye  about  the  meetin'."  So  he 
went  on  and  gin  me  the  hull  description.  He  said 
that  when  Mr.  Scrantum  told  'em  he  wanted  a  dismis- 
sion, they  was  wonderful  surprised — Deacon  Skinner 
he  riz  and  axed  the  reason.  So  Mr.  Scrantum  stated 
that  he  found  it  onpossible  to  support  his  family  on 
his  salary.  Deacon  Skinner  said  that  was  curus — he 
thought  four  hundred  dollars  was  purty  well  up.  Dea- 
oon  Peabody  said  he  thought  so  tew,  especially  with  a 
donation  party  besides.  Deacon  Fustick,  he  put  in,  and 
said  't  was  ruther  a  queer  time  for  a  minister  to  com- 
plain of  his  congregation,  jest  after  they  'd  gin  him  a 
bee — and  he  axed  Dr.  Lippincott  what  was  his  opinion. 
fNow  Dr  Lippincott  never  had  an  opinion  in  all  Ids 


270  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

life,  on  any  subject — if  lie  had,  he  never  expressed  it 
for  fear  of  injurin'  his  practice;  't ain't  even  known 
what  his  politics  is — he  always  contrives  to  be  away 
on  election  days.)  So  he  hemmed  and  hawed,  and 
said  that  really  he  had  n't  made  up  his  mind — he  hoped 
Mr.  Scrantum  'predated  his  donation  party — he  hoped 
the  congregation  'preciated  Mr.  Scrantum  ;  he  wished 
— he  wished  things  was  n't  sittiwated  jest  as  they  was 
Bittiwated ;  and  that  was  all  they  got  out  of  him.  Old 
Parker  observed  that  minister's  families,  somehow, 
took  more  to  support  'em  than  any  body  else.  Mr. 
Scrantum  said  that  his  family  was  as  equinomical  as 
they  could  be,  but  he  had  a  good  many  children,  and 
't  was  purty  difficult  to  dew  as  he  'd  ought  tew  by  'em 
on  four  hundred  dollars  a  year ;  axed  'en*  whether 
they  thought  ary  one  o'  them  could  dew  it.  Cappen 
Smalley,  rich  old  curmudgin,  stuck  up  his  head  and 
said  he  guessed  he  •jould  dew  it — any  reasonable  man 
could  dew  it — especially  with  the  help  of  a  donation 
party  every  year ;  but  he  hoped  Mr.  Scrantum's  re- 
quest would  be  granted  unanimously  for  his  part,  he'd 
long  ben  of  opinion  they  'd  ought  to  have  a  cheaper 
minister,  and  one  that  had  n't  such  a  snarl  o'  young 
ones.  I  don't  s'pose  Parson  Scrantum  would  a  said 
any  thing  severe  if  it  hadent  a  ben  for  Cappen  Smal- 
ley's  speech.  He  seemed  quite  stirred  up  by  it.  He 
riz  up  considerable  frustrated,  and  says  he — "  I  thank 
€rod,  that  what  ever  else  I  lack,  He  has  ben  pleased  to 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  271 

give  me  plenty  o'  the  poor  ms.n's  blessins — yea,  a 
quiver  full  of  them.  And  it  :s  for  their  sakes,  iiot 
my  own,  that  I  some  he.e  to-night.  If  I  was  alone  in 
the  world,  I  could  and  would  dew  on  a'  most  nothing 
—though  Scripter  says  the  laborer  is  worthy  of  his 
hire.  Brethren,  since  I  come  among  you,  I  re  done 
my  best  to  be  a  faithful  pastor — if  I  Ve  failed  I  hope 
to  be  forgiven.  At  first  I  had  an  idee  that  I  should 
be  able  to  rub  along,  on  my  small  salary ;  and  7  don't 
know,  but,  I  might  a  done  it,  if  it  had  n't  a  ben  for 
one  thing"  Here  he  paused.  "  What  was  that?"  says 
Deacon  Peabocty.  Mr.  Scrantum  continue — "I've 
ben  here  tew  years,  and  you  Ve  had  the  kindness  to 
give  me  tev  donation  parties.  I  Ve  stood  it  so  fur, 
but  I  can't  stand  it  no  longer ;  brethren,  I  feel  con- 
vinced that  one  more  donation  party  would  completely 
break  me  down.  I  will  now  retire  and  leave  the  m°et- 
in'  to  decide  as  they  see  fit."  Yer  uncle  said  that  for 
about  five  minutes  after  he  went  out  universal  silence 
prevailed.  The  first  to  speak  was  Deacon  Skinner. 
"  Strange  ir  says  he.  "  Gurus !"  says  Deacon  Pe^body. 
**  Jfeemarkable !"  says  Deacon  Fustick.  "  Onaccount- 
able !"  says  Cappen  Smalley.  "  Singular  circum- 
stance !"  says  Dr  Lippincott.  Then  yer  uncle  got  up, 
and,  says  he — "  Gentlemen,  I  don't  see  as  any  thing  'a 
to  be  gained  by  settin'  here  and  wonderin'  all  night. 
For  my  part,  I  think  all  Parson  Scrantum  Ts  said 
is  true — his  request  is  perfectly  reasonable — and  1 


272       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

move  it  be  put  to  vote."    So  't  was  put  to  vote  and 
granted. 

A.  few  days  afterward  the  minister's  folks  packed 
up  and  started  off  for  Miss  Scrantum's  father's,  to  stay 
till  they  could  git  another  place.  Yer  uncle  gin  'em 
ten  dollars  when  they  went.  He  'd  a  ben  glad  to  give 
fifty  if  he  'd  a  ben  able.  They  was  very  thaukful 
for  't,  and  the  parson  gin  us  his  partin'  biessm',  and  I'd 
rather  have  that  than  all  Cappen  Smalley's  money. 
We  all  felt  bad  enough  when  we  said  good-by.  Miss 
Scrantum  cried  hard — she  dident  try  to  conceal  her 
feelins  then.  Susan  cried  tew,  and  so  did  I — and  we 
had  a  gineral  time  kissin'  all  round ;  as  true  as  I  live, 
Jeff,  he  kissed  Susan  tew — but  don't  you  teaze  him 
about  it ;  I  was  glad  to  see  him  dew  it,  though  Susan 
did  blush  awfully.  They  made  us  promise  to  come 
and  see  'em  if  ever  they  got  another  sittiwatiou. 
We  've  heerd  lately  that  the  parson  had  got  a  call  to 
Bangtown.  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  the  village, 
but  I  hope  to  gracious  it 's  a  place  where  donation  par- 
tics  is  a  thing  unknown. 


XXIY. 

iglapire  tatu  ai  tty  totrngtatefc 
at  SrraWrU  fill 


B  're  a  gwine  to  have  a  Sewin'  Society  at 
Scrabble  Hill,  Miss  Birsley,  lawyer  Birsley's 
wife,  was  tlie  first  one  that  proposed  it.  She  hain't 
lived  here  but  about  a  year,  and  she  's  always  ben 
used  to  such  societies  where  she  come  from,  so  she 
felt  as  if  she  'd  like  to  have  one  here.  Miss  Birsley's 
jest  the  woman  to  take  hold  o'  any  such  thing.  She's 
a  wonderful  active  little  body,  and  a  real  good  woman 
t°w.  But,  above  all,  she  's  got  a  way  o'  sayin'  jest 
what  she  pleases  to  every  body  without  even  givin'  any 
oflfense.  I  Ve  often  wondered  how  it  was  that  Mias 
Birsley  could  speak  her  mind  so  freely  and  never 
make  no  enemies  by  it.  Why,  if  I  should  venter  to 
talk  half  so  plain  as  she  does  I  should  be  univarsally 
hat<L  But  she  comes  right  out  with  every  thing 
Bur  thinks,  <md  yet  she's  more  popilar  than  any 
ctiier  woman  in  the  place.  I  guess  It  mus^  be  because 
folks  has  found  out  that  she  never  says  no  wuss 

'em  to  their  Lacks  than  she  saya  to  their  faces 
12* 


274       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

Well,  she  come  into  our  house  one  day  last  week  (she 
and  I 's  very  good  friends) ;  she  come  in  and  axed  me 
how  I  'd  like  to  jine  a  Sewin'  Society  for  benevolent 
purposes?  I  told  her  that  not  knowin'  I  couldent 
say,  for  I  hadent  never  belonged  to  none.  So  she 
went  into  an  explanation  ;  and  after  I  understood  the 
natur  of  'em  I  liked  the  idee,  and  said  I  'd  go  in  for 
it.  So  she  wanted  me  to  go  round  with  her  and  talk 
it  up  to  the  folks ;  and  as  I  dident  see  no  reason  why 
I  shouldent,  I  put  on  my  things  and  off  we  started. 
The  first  place  we  went  to  was  the  minister's— we 
thought  we  'd  like  to  see  what  Miss  Tuttle  thought 
about  it  afore  we  spoke  to  any  body  else.  Well,  Miss 
Tuttle  said  she  approved  o'  sowin'  societies — she 
thought  they  was  quite  useful  when  they  was  properly 
conducted.  She  dident  know  how  the  plan  would 
work  here — at  any  rate,  it  was  well  enough  to  trv, 
and  she  'd  be  glad  fro  help  us  all  she  was  able  to. 

Next  we  went  to  Deacon  Skinner's.  The  Widder 
Grimes  and  Charity  was  there  spendin'  the  day,  so  we 
discussed  the  pint  with  'em  all.  Miss  Skinner  and 
the  gals  seemed  quite  took  with  the  idee ;  but  Charity 
and  her  mother  rather  hesitated  at  first,  but  after 
they  'd  axed  forty  questions,  and  we  'd  told  'em  all 
about  it,  and  they  'd  satisfied  themselves  that  they 
could  git  along  without  givin'  any  thing  more  than 
their  time  for  an  hour  or  tew  a  week,  and  git  their 
tea  to  boot,  they  agreed  to  jine.  So  Miss  Birsley  took 


CONTEMPLATED    SEWING    SOCIETY.      275 

down  their  rames.  We  dident  conclude  what  we 
should  dew.  with  the  avails  o'  our  labor — thought 
we  'd  discuss  that  matter  at  the  first  meetin',  and  Miss 
Birsley  said  she  'd  have  'em  meet  to  her  house  the 
next  week  a  Wensday. 

When  we  come  away  from  there,  I  says,  says  I, 
!<  We  must  n't  forgit  to  go  to  see  Liddy  Ann  Buill." 
"O  yes,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  the  old  maid  that  keeps 
the  milliner's  shop "'  Now  I  hadent  the  least  idee 
she  'd  jine,  but  I  know  'd  she  never  ;d  forgive  us  if  AVC 
dident  call  on  her.  She  s  a  carus  critter — consates 
that  some  folks  feels  above  her,  and  it  makes  her  won- 
derful oncomfbrtable.  She  's  always  on  a  look  out  for 
slights  and  insults,  and  o'  course  she  thinks  she  gits 
plenty  on  'em.  She  hates  Deacon  Fustick's  wife  like 
pizen,  on  account  o'  some  remarks  she  heerd  o'  Miss 
Fustick's  makin'  about  the  ostridge  feathers  she  wore 
on  her  bunnit  winter  afore  last.  Miss  Fustick  said 
afore  old  Miss  Crocker,  that  she  thought  Liddy  Ann 
Buill  was  tew  old  to  wear  plumes.  Old  mother 
Crocker  went  straight  and  told  Liddy  Ann  on  't,  and 
she  was  hoppin'  mad  about  i.,.  She  went  round 
talkin'  about  Miss  Fustick  at  i.  terrible  rate.  Of 
course,  Miss  Fustick  talked  back  agin,  and  it  led  to 
an  awful  quarrel  that  ain't  made  up  yet.  That  bunnit 
was  a  curiosity  though.  Blue  vslvet  with  a  couple  o' 
great  long  yaller  feathers  tipped  with  pink  on' t,  and 
red  flower?  in  the  inside.  "  I  knew  she  won't  jine/ 


276  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

Fays  I ;  "  but  we  may  as  well  call,  for  slie  '11  be  awful 
mad  if  we  don't"  "I  guess  I  can  manage  l.er,"  saya 
Miss  Birsley.  "  I  know  she  thinks  I  feel  above  her 
bat  I  'E  see  ef  I  can't  convince  her  she  mistaken." 
So  in  we  goes — Liddy  Ann  was  a  sewin'  a  straw 
buunit.  She  's  ginerally  pretty  perlite  to  me  -  I  s'pose 
she  thinks  I  ain't  proud — but  when  she  see  me  long 
o'  Miss  Birsley,  she  thought  I  d  naturally  feel  ruther 
lifted  up  (bein'  as  Miss  Birsley  belongs  to  the  upper 
crust),  and  so  ?he  'd  treat  me  accordin'ly.  She  looked 
np  when  we  come  in,  and  gin  us  a  wonderful  stiff 
bow — never  laid  by  her  sewin'  —dident  even  ax  us  to 
sit  down — but  there  she  sot,  head  up,  nose  in  the  air 
(she 's  got  a  sing'lar  way  o'  turnin'  up  her  nose  at 
folks),  with  a  real  I  'm-as-good-as-you-be  look  on  her 
face,  and  sewed  away  as  if  her  life  depended  on  't.  I 
felt  ruther  aukerd,  but  Miss  Birsley  dident  seem  to. 
She  looked  down  into  the  show-box  that  sot  on  the 
counter,  and  says  she,  u  What  a  beautiful  assortment 
o'  ribbins — you  Ve  jest  got  ;em  up,  hain't  you.  Miss 
Buttl  r  "  I  have,"  says  Liddy  Ann.  "  That  green 
and  white  plaid  one  's  a  beauty,"  says  Miss  Birsley — 
"Won't  you  please  to  let  me  look  at  it?"  "Can't 
yon  lift  the  kiver  and  take  it  out  yerself  ?"  says  Liddy 
Ann,  says  she.  "  0  y^s,  to  be  sure,"  says  Miss 
Birsley — "  I  dident  know  as  I  might."  So  she  took 
it  out  and  admired  it  wonderfully.  "  What  a  firm 
atout  ribbin  it  is  tew  ?"  <jays  she — "  Why,  Mies  Buill 


CONTEMPLATED    SEWING    SOCIETY.      277 

you  make  better  selections  than  the  merchants  dew." 
"  When  /buy  ribbins  I  buy  ribbins,  and  not  shavin's," 
says  Liddy  Ann.  "So  I  see,"  says  Miss  Birsley. 
"  I  '11  take  three  yards  on  't,  if  you  please."  I  won- 
Icred  whether  the  critter  'd  condescend  to  git  up  and 
wait  on  her — but  she  couldent  help  it — so  she  riz  with 
a  great  deal  o'  dignity  and  measured  it  off.  Miss 
Birsley  paid  for 't;  and  then  she  happened  to  notice  a 
straw  bunnit  that  laid  on  the  shelf— 't  was  one  that 
Liddy  Ann  had  been  dewin'  over  for  Loanthy  Petti- 
bone — "How  white  this  bunnit  is!"  says  she — "I 
don't  see  how  you  can  make  old  straw  look  so  nice." 
"  When  I  bleech  hats  I  bleech  'em,"  says  Liddy  Ann ; 
"  I  don't  tan  'em."  "  So  I  perceive  says  Miss  Birsley, 
says  she — "  but  I  declare  I  'd  a'  most  forgot  my  arrand 
— we  're  a  tryin'  to  raise  a  Sewin'  Society,  Miss  Buill, 
and  we  called  to  see  whether  you  wouldent  jine  ?" 
"  Me !"  says  Liddy  Ann,  lookin'  a  leetle  grain 
pleasanter  'n  she  did  afore — "  well,  T  don't  know — 
I'm  fearful  you  won't  succeed  in  yer  undertakinV 
"Why  not?"  says  I.  "O,"  says  she,  "society  here 
ain't  united  as  it  ought  to  be — indiwiddiwals  don't 
pull  together  at  all."  "  Well,  then,"  says  Miss  Birsley, 
"mabby  a  Sewin'  Society  would  be  the  means  o1 
makin'  'em  more  united — it  promotes  good  feelin'  to 
meet  together  and  work  for  some  benevolent  objict— 
makes  folks  take  an  interest  in  one  another,  you 
know."  "  O,  but 't  wculdent  be  the  case  heio,'1'  says 


278  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

Liddy  Ann;  "there's  tew  much  rastocratical  feelin 
— some  o'  the  members  would  carry  their  heads  so 
high,  and  think  themselves  so  much  better  'n  some 
others ;  and  them  others  would  know  they  was  jest  as 
good  as  the  rest — for  my  part,  shouldent  want  to  put 
myself  in  the  way  o'  bein'  put  down  and  stompt  on 
afterward  by  Deacon  Fustick's  wife  and  sach."  Miss 
Birsley,  she  raised  her  hands  and  eyes,  and  says  she, 
"  The  land  alive ! — well,  I  declare,  if  I  ain't  beat  now 
to  hear  you  go  on  at  such  a  rate,  Miss  Buill !  You 
look  well  a  talkin'  about  aristocracy  when  you  've  got 
more  on 't  than  anybody  else  in  the  village.  Why,  I 
always  thought  you  was  very  proud  and  haughty ; 
and  I  guess  it 's  the  general  impression  that  you  feel 
above  your  neighbors.  I  was  half  afeared  to  come  in 
here  to-day,  you  've  always  been  so  scornful  toward 
me ;  but  now  I  am  here,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  speak 
plainly — and  I  '11  tell  you  what,  if  you  raly  want 
society  to  be  united,  you  must  be  the  first  to  set  the 
example.  You  must  lay  aside  some  o'  yer  pride,  and 
consent  to  associate  with  yer  neighbors  on  equil  tirms." 
(Liddy  Ann's  nose  come  down  a  peg,  and  she  raly 
looked  quite  gratified.  Thinks  me,  these  ere  folks 
that's  forever  a  blazin'  away  about  aristocracy,  are 
always  willin'  enough  to  have  the  name  o'  bein'  aristo- 
crats themselves,  and  would  be  so  actilly  if  they  had 
a  chance).  Miss  Birsley  went  on — "  Now,  if  you  're 
sincere  in  what  you  say,  do,  for  pity's  sake,  show  it 


C  O  N  T  E  j'-t  I'  L  A  T  E  D    SEWING    SOCIETY.      279 

by  comin'  ij  the  3ewin'  Society.  We  expect  all  the 
other  giris  ;11  come — tlie  Skinners  have  agreed  to,  and 
we  intend  to  call  on  the  rest,  and  no  doubt  they  '11 
jine."  Liddy  Ann's  nose  come  down  another  peg  to 
hear  herself  classed  with  the  girls.  She  looked  eny 
mosL  good-natered.  "  Well,  I  '11  see  about  it,"  says 
she — "  b"«it  why  don't  you  take  some  cheers  and  set 
down'/"  "Because  you  hain't  invited  us  tew,"  says 
Miss  Birbley.  "Bear  me,"  says  Liddy  Ann,  "how 
forgitful  I  be!"  "No  matter,"  says  Miss  Birsley, 
<l  we  can't  sta^  to  set  down  now — but  you  wittjiue  us, 
won't  you  r(  we  depend  a  great  deal  on  your  taste,  and 
the  other  girie-  all  seem  to  give  up  to  you  in  that  re- 
b'pect."  Liddy  Ann  fairly  dropt  her  nose  to  a  level 
with  other  folkses,  and  actilly  smiled,  and  says  she — 
"  Well,  takin'  all  things  into  consideration,  I  ruther 
guess  1  will  j'ne."  So  Miss  Birsley  took  down  her 
name,  and  told  Lei  not  to  fail  to  attend  the  first 
caeetin'  at  her  house  next  Wensday.  She  promised 
she  'd  come ;  and  then  she  went  to  the  door  with  us 
mighty  gracious,  and  hoped  we  'd  call  on  her  agin. 
After  we  'd  got  on  a  p^ece,  says  I,  "  Well  I  dew  say 
for 't,  I  never  was  more  beat  in  all  my  born  days  than 
I  was  to  see  you  git  round  that  cross-grained  old 
critter  as  you  did  I  I  dident  know  afore  that  you  ever 
used  any  soft  scap,  but  I  'm  sure  you  daubed  it  onto 
Liddy  Ann  right  and  left;  'twas  the  best  way  after 
*11  chough,  for  if  you  'd  a  took  her  to  task  about  bein 


280       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

jealous  and  suspicious,  she  'd  a  bei  teann'  mad,  and 
like  enough  showed  us  the  door,  and  thsn  went  round 
and  jawed  about  us  afterward."  "  Jest  so,"  says  Miss 
Birsley,  "  the  only  way  to  deal  with  such  folks  is  to 
try  to  make  them  satisfied  with  themselves ;  make  'em 
think  you  look  upon  'em  as  persons  o'  socie  conse- 
quence, and  they  '11  dew  any  thing  you  want  'em  tew ; 
and  then,  tew,  there 's  a  satisfaction  in  it,  because  it 
makes  'em  feel  so  much  more  comfortable  and  gooi- 
natered." 

The  next  place  we  went  to  was  Dr.  Lippincott's. 
Miss  Lippincott  was  pleased  with  the  idee  of  a  Sewin' 
Society,  and  said  she  'd  jine.  Anny  Mariar  sot  there 
a  playin'  on  the  pianner,  and  we  axed  her  if  she 
wouldent  take  hold  and  help  us  ?  "  Dear  me,  no  !" 
says  she ;  "I  can't  bear  to  sew,  and,  besides,  I  don't 
understand  it.  I  never  had  to  sew  any."  "  How  old 
are  you?"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "  Eighteen,"  says  Anny 
Mariar.  "  The  land  alive  I"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  eight- 
een year  old  and  don't  know  how  to  sew ! — and  you 
can  set  there  and  tell  on  't  without  blushin'  1  Why 
what 's  yer  ma  ben  thinkin'  about  all  this  time  to  neg- 
lect yer  eddication  so  ?  I  declare,  I  must  tell  Dick  o' 
that ;  I  shan't  allow  him  to  git  interested  in  a  young 
lady  that  don't  know  how  to  sew  " — (Dick  was  her 
nephew  ;  he  was  a  studyin'  law  with  Mr.  Birsley,  and 
was  quite  attentive  to  Anny  Mariar.)  "Well,"  she 
went  on,  '•'  it 's  high  time  you  larnt,  and  if  you  '11  coins 


CONTEMPLATED    SEWING    SOCIETY.      281 

fco  the  Sewin'  Society,  I'll  engage  to  teach  you." 
Miss  Birsley  said  all  this  in  a  pleasant,  good-natered 
»way,  but  Miss  Lippincott  felt  it,  and  so  did  Anny  Ma- 
riar.  I  guess  she  begun  to  suspect  that,  after  all, 
't  wa'n't  so  wonderful  lady-like  net  to  know  how  to 
eew.  She  promised  she'd  attend  the  meetin'  next 
week.  "  That 's  good,"  says  Miss  Birsley ;  "  but  don't 
for  pity's  sake,  wear  all  them  petticoats,  for  I  don't 
think  ther  '11  be  room  for  'em  if  the  meetin's  large." 

When  we  come  from  there,  we  started  for  Deacon 
Fustick's  and  while  we  was  a  crossin'  the  road  we  ob- 
served Cappen  Smalley  a  standin'  in  his  store  door. 
"  There  's  the  cappen,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  now  we  '11 
go  in  and  make  him  give  us  something  to  begin  with." 
"Gracious  sakes!"  says  I,  "I  hope  you  don't  expect 
to  squeeze  any  thing  out  o'  him ?"  "To  be  sure  I 
dew,"  says  she.  "  Well,  you  '11  find  yerself  mistaken," 
says  I ;  "  for  he  never  gives  nothing  to  no  objict — al- 
ways takes  it  out  in  talkin'."  "You  see 'f  I  don't 
mgke  him  hand  over,"  says  she.  When  the  cappen 
Eee  us  a  comin'  he  went  in  so  's  to  be  ready  to  wait  on 
us.  "  Cappen,'  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  we  hain't  come 
to  trade  to-day ;  we  've  come  on  bizness.  We  ladies 
are  thinkin'  o'  startin'  a  Sewin'  Society  for  benevolent 
objicts,  and  it 's  quite  important  to  git  the  opinion  o' 
the  leadin1  men  o'  the  place  afore  we  begin.  What  do 
you  think  o'  the  plan,  cappen?"  "A  capital  plan, 
says  Le,  (/  a  most  excellent  idee.  I  've  long  been  of 


282       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS 

opinion  that  somethin'  o'  the  kind  was  needed  here — 
it 's  a  great  satisfaction  to  be  laborin'  for  the  good  of 
our  felltr-critters.  To  what  partickler  purpouse  doi 
you  intend  to  iyr-zte  the  avails  o'  yer  labor  ?"  "  Well," 
says  she,  "  we  hain't  decided  yet ;  we  shall  wait  till 
we  git  started,  and  then  consider  the  matter — ther  's 
enough  ways  o'  dewin'  good  with  money,  you  know. " 
"  Exactly,"  says  the  cappen,  says  he,  "  and  I  would 
suggest  the  idee  o'  your  expendin'  yer  funds  in  the 
purchase  of  articles  o'  clothin'  foi  the  poor ;  ther 's  a 
great  number  in  destitute  circumstences  in  this  place, 
and  it  strikes  me  it  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  the 
ladies  to  furnish  'em  vith  comfortable  apparril." 
"  That  is  a  good  idee,"  says  Miss  Birsley — "  don't  you 
think  so,  Miss  Maguire  "  "  Yes,"  says  I.  "  I  'm  glad 
ri  strikes  you  favorably,"  says  the  cappen,  says  he ; 
"  and  come  to  think,  I  have  on  hand  a  variety  o'  ma- 
terials that  would  be  suitable  to  make  garments  for  the 
poor ;  and  if  you  see  fit  to  purchase,  I  '11  let  you  have 
'em  at  first  cost,  seein'  it 's  for  a  benevolent  objict.  In 
such  cases  it 's  always  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  sell  low/' 
"  You  're  very  kind,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  we  '11  mention 
it  at  the  meetin' ;  but  we  Ve  got  to  have  some  funds  to 
begin  with.  You  can  give  us  something,  I  s'pose  ?" 
"  Well,  raly,"  says  the  cappen,  says  he,  rubbin'  his 
hands  together,  "  I  'm  very  sorry,  very,  indeed,  that 
it  Ja  happened  so.  It 's  very  inconvenient  jest  now — 
in  fact,  its  onpossible  for  me  to  give  any  thing  at  this 


CONTEMPLATED    SEWING    SOCIETY.      283 

time.  I  Lave  a  large  remittance  to  make  very  soon  to 
New  York,  and,  of  course  I  can't  spare  a  penny.  We 
men  o'  bizness  that  have  large  outstandin'  debts  are 
often  more  put  to  't  for  ready  money  than  a  day -labor- 
er— it 's  very  vexatious,  very,  indeed."  "Yes,"  says 
Miss  Birsley,  "  it  must  be  so — it  must  be  very  tryin' 
to  you  to  be  scant  o'  money  when  you*  have  a  call  to 
contribbit,  it 's  such  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  give  " — 
(here  she  gin  me  a  hunch) — "  but  that  don't  make  no . 
difference  to  us,  we  'd  jest  as  live  take  something  out 
o'  the  store — for  instance,  some  o'  this  ere  cotton  cloth 
— (and  she  stept  up  to  a  pile  o'  shirtin'  that  laid  on  the 
counter) — "  you  'd  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  give  us  a 
piece  o'  this "  "  But — but,"  says  the  cappen,  "  I 
raly  don't  feel.'-  "  Now,  cappen,"  says  Miss  Birsley, 
"  you  needent  apologize  a  word,  this  is  very  nice  cloth 
and  it'll  be  jest  as  good  to  us  as  money — it  '11  make  first 
rate  shirts,  and  we  can  always  find  ready  market  for 
good  shirts.''  "  But,"  says  he,  "  consider  a  minnit — a 
piece  o'  shirtin'  is — "  "  0  now,  don't  talk  so,  cappen," 
say 8  she  ;  "  a  piece  o'  shirtin  's  jest  exactly  as  good  as 
any  thing  else",  and  we  'd  jest  as  live  have  it  as  the 
money ;  for  if  we  had  the  money  we  should  Lave  to 
spend  it  to  buy  materials  to  begin  on.  We  know 
't  wo  old  be  more  of  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  give  us 
five  dollars  if  't  was  convenient ;  but  seein'  it  ain't, 
we  're  perfectly  willin'  to  take  this — so  jest  please  to 
dew  it  up ;"  so  she  picked  out  one  o'  the  best  pieced 


284       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

and  tumbled  it  down  toward  him.  The  cappen  he 
looked  awful  womblecropt — I  declare,  I  raly  pitied  the 
poor  man — he  hesitated  a  minnit,  and  -  then,  can  you 
believe  it?  he  actilly  took  the  cloth  and  done  it  up ! — 
but  I  tell  ye,  I  never  see  such  an  oncomfortable  look- 
in'  countenance  as  his  'n  while  he  was  a  dewin'  on  't. 
"  Now,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  I  '11  trouble  you  to  write 
on 't — '  Thirty-one  yards  shirtin'  presented  to  the  La- 
dies' Sewin'  Society  by  Captain  Smalley,' "  So  he 
took  a  pen  and  writ  it,  and  I  '11  be  hanged  it  ne  did- 
ent  look  as  if  he  was  a  signin'  his  own  death  warrant. 
"Much  obleeged  to  ye,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  and  she 
took  up  the  cloth  and  we  come  off.  When  we  got  to 
the  door,  she  turned  round,  and  says  she,  "  Mabby  it 
will  be  a  satisfaction  to  ye,  cappen,  to  buy  some  o'  the 
shirts  after  we  git  'em  made  ?"  The  caDpen  he  gin  a 
ghastly  grin,  and  a  peculiar  kind  of  a  bow  as  murjb.  as 
to  say — "You  see  'f  you  ketch  me  agin/'  and  30  we 
bid  him  good-afternoon,  and  left  him  to  his  medita- 
tions. "  Well,"  says  I,  "  I  '11  give  it  up  now  !— if  I 
hadeni  a  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  I  never  *d  <i  be- 
lieved it,  never !  How  astonished  every  boav  '11  be 
when  they  hear  on 't  ?"  "  Yes,"  says  Miss  Birstey  ; 
"  but  we  mustent  let  on  how  we  got  it  out  of  him— 
Jt  ain't  right  to  tell  o'  such  things — we  must  let  folks 
think  he  gin  it  of  his  own  accord."  "  Jest  so,"  says  T ; 
but,  thinks  me,  its  tew  good  to  keep,  and  I  must  teJl 
Mr.  Godey  on  't,  though  I  won't  mention  it  to  any 


CONTEMPLATED    SEWING    SOCIETY.      286 

else.  Well,  it  was  a  pretty  heavy  load  to  carry,  and 
Miss  Birsley  proposed  we  should  take  it  into  her  hus- 
band's office  and  leave  it.  The  office  was  nigh  by,  so 
we  goes  in.  Miss  Birsley  huv  it  down,  and  says  she 
to  her  nephew,  "  There,  Dick,  I  wan't  you  to  bring 
that  up  when  you  come  home  to-night."  Squire  Birs- 
ley looked  at  it  and  read  the  writin',  and  says  he, 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Cappen  Smalley  gin  you 
this  ?"  "  To  be  sure  he  did,"  says  she ;  "  don't  you 
believe  his  own  words  ?"  "  Pretty  cunnin'  in  you," 
says  the  squire,  "to  git  it  in  writin',  for  fear  he  'd  be 
down  on  yer  society  with  a  bill."  "  0  law !"  says  she, 
u  jest  as  if  I  done  it  for  that."  Dick  Wilson  he  look- 
ed up  kind  o'  knowin',  and  says  he,  "  It  takes  you  to 
come  it,  Aunt  Lucy." 

Next  we  went  to  Deacon  Fustick's.  Miss  Fustick 
and  Jane  Elizy  had  gone  to  Deacon  Peabody's  to  tea, 
so  we  went  round  there,  and  had  a  chance  to  see  'em 
all  at  once.  Miss  Peabody's  entirely  governed  by 
Miss  Fustick  in  every  thing,  so  she  waited  to  see  what 
Miss  Fustick  would  say  afore  she  expressed  her,opin- 
ion  about  the  Sewin'  Society ;  and  Miss  Fustick  don't 
want  to  go  into  any  thing  without  she  can  be  head 
man,  and  as  she  was  n't  sure  how  she  'd  stand  in  the 
Sewin'  Society,  she  hesitated  a  spell.  At  last  she  said 
she  had  her  doubts  about  it — dident  like  to  undertake 
a  thing  till  she  was  convinced  't  would  promote  the 
interests  o'  religion— (Miss  Fustick 's  awful  pious  ac- 


286       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

cordin'  to  her  idees  o'  piety.)  Of  course,  Miss  Pea- 
body  had  her  doubts  tew,  about  jinin'  the  society, 
Miss  Birsley  and  me,  we  both  said  tew  'em  that  we  'd 
no  doubt  but  what  the  Sewin'  Society  would  be  the 
means  o'  dewin'  a  great  deal  o'  good  if 't  was  properly 
conducted.  Well,  Miss  Fustick  said  she  was  onsartin' 
about  bein'  able  to  attend — her  time  was  pretty  much 
took  up — she  was  Superintendent  o'  the  Maternal  So- 
ciety, President  o'  the  Daughters  o'  Temperance,  and 
Correspondin'  Secretary  to  the  Friends  o'  Humanity, 
and  she  was  afeard  she  couldent  consistently  do  much 
for  the  Sewin'  Society ;  but  she  'd  try  to  attend  occa- 
sionally— at  least  she  'd  make  it  a  subject  o'  prayer, 
and  try  to  find  out  what  was  duty  in  the  case.  Of 
course,  Miss  Peabody  said  she  'd  try  to  attend  tew — 
and  then  we  axed  ther  daughters  whether  they  'd  come  ? 
Sophrony  Peabody  inquired  whether  the  gentlemen 
was  a  gwine  to  attend  ?  "We  said  that  hadent  been 
thought  of  yet.  And  Jane  Eiizy  Fustick  said  sne 
hoped  in  all  favor  they  wouldent — if  they  did,  she 
wouldent  any  how — she  couldent  bear  to  have  the  fel- 
lers stickin'  round.  "Why  can't  you  speak  the 
truth,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  and  say  you  won't  come 
without  they  do  ?"  At  last  they  both  said  they  'd  jinc. 
Next,  we  went  into  Jo  Gipson's,  and  there  we  found 
Tom  Hodges'  wife  a  visitin'  with  her  young  one.  Of 
all  the  children  I  ever  see,  that  boy  's  the  disagreea- 
blest-  but  his  mother  don't  think  so.  She  makes  a 


CONTEMPLATED    SEWING    SOCIETY.      287 

natrul  fool  of  him — always  takes  him  every  where 
vrith  her,  and  it  takes  every  body  in  the  Louse  to  at- 
tend to  him.  He  was  a  settin'  on  his  mother's  lap  eat- 
in'  an  awful  great  hunk  o'  cake,  makiu'  a  dretful  growl- 
in'  noise  over  it  that  eny  most  prevented  our  hearin1 
one  another  talk.  After  we  'd  discussed  the  Sewin' 
Society  with  the  ladies,  and  they  'd  both  said  they  'd 
jine,  Miss  Birsley  says  to  the  young  one,  "  Come  here 
and  see  me,  bub."  "Me  won't!"  says  he,  "He'd 
rather  stay  by  his  mommy,  hadent  he,  darlin'  ?"  says 
Miss  Hodge.  "  Stay  there,  then,  if  you  want  to,  little 
cross-patch,"  says  Miss  Birsley.  I  felt  rather  sorry  to 
hear  her  speak  out  so,  so  I  says,  "  What 's  yer  name, 
ducky?"  "  Nun  o' oo  bidness !"  says  he.  "O  now," 
says  his  mother,  "  can't  he  be  a  little  man  and  tell  the 
lady  his  name  ?"  "  Me  won't !"  says  he,  and  he  hit 
his  mother  a  slap  in  the  face.  "  Now  that  ain't  prit- 
ty,"  says  she ;  "  mommy  '11  cry,"  so  she  put  her  hands 
up  to  her  face  and  pretended  to  cry.  After  a  spell, 
says  she,  "  Now  tell  the  lady  his  name  nice  and  pritty, 
and  then  mommy  '11  stoj  cryin'."  But  instid  o'  tellin' 
hi?  name,  he  begun  to  bawl  foi  more  cake.  "  Wait  a 
rainnit,  Miss  Gipson,"  says  Miss  Hodge,  "I  want  the 
ladies  to  hear  him  tell  his  name,  he  says  it  so  sweet 
and  cunnin'.  Now  tell  the  lady  his  name,  and  then 
he  shall  1m  e  more  cake."  "Yando  Puffle  Hogs," 
says  the  little  torment.  "That's  a  darlin',"  says  his 
mothej — "now,  Miss  Gipson  may  git  him  a  great  big 


288  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS 

piece  o'  cake."  "  What  did  lie  say  his  namo  was  ?*' 
says  Miss  Birsley.  "  Orlando  Percival  Hodge,"  SETS 
his  mother.  "  The  land  alive  I"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  I 
declare  I  don't  blame  the  young  one  for  not  wantin" 
to  tell  his  name."  "  What !  don't  you  like  it  ?"  says 
Miss  Hodge.  "  No,"  says  Miss  Birsley ;  "  I  don't  ad- 
mire double  names  any  way,  especially  each  awful 
jaw-breakers  as  that."  "Why  how  you  talk,"  says 
Miss  Hodge,  "  for  my  part,  I  think  boys  names  always 
ought  to  be  double.  I  told  his  pa  t  wanted  to  give 
him  a  name  that  would  sound  -veil  in  Congress  one  o' 
these  days,  and  I  think  •  Orlando  P.  Hodge7  -aril'  '' 
" The  land  alive!"  soys  Miss  Birsiey,  "I  s'posp  you 
chink  that  Henry  Clay  d  be  a  much  greater  man  if 
his  name  was  Henry  P.  Clay.  And  George  Washing- 
ton, tew,  no  doubt  he  'd  »  made  a  great  deal  more 
noise  in  the  world  if  his  name  had  a  ben  George  P. 
Washington.  What  a  pity  't  wa'n't--  -but  you  needeut 
be  calculatin'  on  seein'  your  boy  a  member  c'  Congress 
— his  name  '11  be  the  death  of  him  afore  he  comes  to 
maturity.  Did  you  evsr  consider  that  'twas  0.  P. 
H?"  "  Gracious!"  says  Miss  Hodge,  "  it  never  struck 
me  afore."  "Miss  Birsley,"  says  I,  "it's  time  for  us 
to  go."  "  So  't  is,"  says  she.  "  Well,  ladies,  we  shall 
expect  to  see  you  at  the  meetin'  next  Wensday ,  but, 
Miss  Hodge,  don't  you  bring  0.  P.  H.,  for  I  shan't 
have  time  to  stuff  him." 

Well,  from  there,  we  went  over  to  Professor  Stub- 


CONTEMPLATED    SEWING    SOCIETY.      289 

bleses  to  present  the  case  to  Miss  Stubbles  and  .Teru- 
shy.  Miss  Stubbles  is  quite  a  clever  woman,  and  a 
good  member  o'  society  as  fur  as  she  dares  to  be ;  but 
she 's  dretfully  under  the  Professor's  thumb,  and  'he  's 
a  wonderful  curus  man ;  he 's  got  some  o'  the  oddest 
notions  in  his  head  that  ever  you  heerd  of— thinks 
that  property  ought  to  be  equilly  divided — calls  all 
rich  men  oppressors,  and  all  the  laborin'  class  abused 
and  deprived  o'  their  rights — holds  that  men  and  wim- 
min  ought  to  be  eddicated  jest  alike.  He  's  always  a 
whalin'  away  about  the  dignity  o'  labor — has  jest  ben 
deliverin'  a  course  o'  lecters  on  the  subjict,  and  he  calls 
all  men  that  don't  take  hold  and  dew  kitchen  work, 
domestic  tyrants ;  but  he  has  such  a  blind,  twistical 
way  o'  talkin',  that  a  body  can't  tell  what  he  meana 
half  the  time — husband  says  he  don't  know  himself 
what  he  's  a  drivin'  at.  ^Vhen  we  got  there,  Miss 
Stubbles  was  in  the  side  yard  a  splittin'  wood ;  she 
come  round  and  went  in  with  us.  They  hadent  no 
fire  only  in  the  kitchen,  so  she  took  us  in  there.  The 
professor  was  a  churnin'  —I  thought  I  should  go  off 
when  I  see  him.  He 's  a  great,  tall,  lank,  ongainly 
man,  and  there  he  stood  with  a  check  apron  on,  a 
churnin'  away  like  fury — he  did  look  like  old  Time. 
Their  overgrown  gawkey  son,  Nathan,  was  a  settin' 
the  tea-table.  There  's  somethin'  wonderful  quizzical 
about  the  boy's  looks.  His  clus  is  a  great  deal  tew 
small  for  him,  and  he  looks  as  if  he  was  jest  a  gwine 
13 


290  WIDOW  BJEDOTT  PATERS. 

to  bust  out  of  'em  like  rv  tjhicken  out  o'  the  shell.  He 
looked  wonderfal  sober  a  settin'  the  table ;  but  they 
say  he  's  up  to  all  sorts  o'  tricks  away  from  home. 
We  inquired  for  Jerushy,  and  they  said  she  'd  gone 
to  milk.  Well,  we  told  our  bizness,  and  axed  Miss 
Stubbles  if  she  'd  jine  the  society  ?  She  looked  at  the 
Professor  to  see  how  he  took  it  afore  she  answered  us 
— so  I  says,  says  I,  "  What  do  you  think  o'  the  plan, 
Professor  Stubbles?"  Tue  Professor  giv three  or  four 
awful  hams  to  clear  out  his  throat,  and  then  says  he, 
"  Did  I  believe  that  an  organization  of  this  descrip- 
tion would  be  a  labor -promotin'  association,  I  would 
give  it  my  heart- willing  approval."  "No  doabt  it 
will  be  so,"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "  Ladies,"  says  he,  "  it 
is  high  time  that  the  dignity  of  labor  was  appreciated 
world- wide."  (We  see  he  was  in  for  a  speech,  so  we 
let  him  go  on.)  "  It 's  high  time  that  the  purse-proud 
and  vice-bloated  aristocracy  o'  the  land  vas  compelled 
to  toil  like  the  hard-handed  sons  and  daughters  of 
honest  poverty ; — it 's  high  time  that  the  artificial  ar- 
rangements of  society  was  done  away,  and  this  sin- 
distracted,  folly-bewildered,  hag-ridden  world  was 
governed  by  such  laws  as  the  Great  Heart  of  the  uni- 
verse originally  intended.  Ladies,  the  earth-mission 
of  mundane  souls  is  twofold ;  first,  to  discharge  with 
self -interest-sacrificing  zeal  our  duty  toward  down-trod- 
den humanity ;  second,  to  perform  with  sou] -ear  nest, 
wife-assisting,  daughter-helping,  labor-]oving  fidelity, 


h 


Here 
.nil  spattered  all  roun 


CONTEMPLATED    SEWING    SOCIETY       291 

such  domestic  services  as  shall  be  to  be  performed  at 
home ;  and  I  pronounce  that  soul  who  refuses  to  ac 
knowledge  the  dignity  of  household  labor,  a  pride-be- 
sotted,  contempt-deserving,  heaven-provoking  churL' 
Here  the  churn-dasher  come  down  with  such  a  ven 
geance,  that  the  cream  spirted  up  and  spattered  al 
round,  and  some  on 't  went  onto  Miss  Birsley's  shawl. 
"The  land  alive!"  says  she,  "that  was  dignified,  any 
how."  Miss  Stubbles  jumped  up  to  clean  it  off.  "  Set 
Rtill,  M".ss  Stubbles,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "it's  the  Pro- 
fessors bizness  to  repair  the  mischief.  Come,  Profes- 
sor, git  a  wet  cloth  and  wipe  off  my  shawl  afore  the 
grease  soaks  in."  The  Professor  looked  mad  and 
dident  stir.  "  Well,"  says  she,  "  accordin7  to  what 
you  jest  advanced,  you  must  own  yerself  to  be  a  pride- 
besotted  wretch.  Now,  Professor,  I  should  like  to 
know  if  it  would  n't  be  ruther  more  dignified  for  you 
to  go  out  and  split  wood,  than  't  is  to  make  yer  wife 
do  it  while  you  stay  in  the  kitchen  and  churn? 
"V7ould  n't  it  be  quite  as  dignified  to  send  that  great, 
able-bodied  boy  to  the  pastur'  to  milk,  as  't  is  to  make 
Jerushy  go  ?  It  kind  o'  seems  to  me  as  if  labor  wa'n't 
dignified  only  when  it 's  done  by  the  right  persons, 
and  in  the  right  time  and  place.  It  seems  to  me  as 
if  it 's  the  best  way  for  every  body  to  dew  ther  duty 
in  the  station  where  Providence  has  placed  'em — 
mabby  it 's  an  artificial  arrangement,  but  it  strikes  me 
os  ruther  a  good  one."  The  Professor  looked  quite 


292  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

beat,  and  begun  to  ham  and  clear  his  throat,  and  1  aeo 
he  was  a  preparin'  to  let  off  another  speech,  so  I  says 
to  Miss  Birslej,  •"  Come,  it 's  time  we  was  a  gwine." 
So  we  riz  to  come  away,  and  Miss  Birsley  says  she, 
"  Well,  Professor  Stubbles,  I  s'poseyou'll  be  offended 
if  I  don't  invite  you  and  Nathan  to  come  to  the  Sewin' 
Society  and  help  us,  but  as  my  idees  respectin'  the 
dignity  o'  labor  differ  from  yourn,  I  think  I  'd  a  leetie 
ruther  have  Miss  Stubbles  and  Jerushy  come."  The 
Professor  looked  real  wrathy,  but  dident  say  nothing, 
and  we  left  him  a  churnin'  away  for  dear  life. 

Well,  the  next  day  we  went  to  the  Parkers,  and  the 
Billinses,  and  the  Stillman's,  and  the  Pettibone's,  and 
all  round ;  but 't  would  take  tew  long  to  go  ovei  with 
the  hull  genealogy  of  all  the  calls  we  made.  Enough 
to  say,  we  found  most  every  body  agreeable  to  the 
plan ;  and  when  they  wa'n't  in  favor  on 't,  Miss  Birs- 
ley argyd  'em  into 't — so  she  sent  a  notice  to  Parson 
Tuttle,  and  yesterday  he  giv  it  out  in  meetin',  request- 
in'  all  the  ladies  o'  the  congregation  to  meet  next 
Wensday  afternoon  at  the  house  of  Squire  Birsley, 
for  the  purpose  of  organmn'  a  Sewin'  Society  for  be- 
nevolent objicts. 


XXV. 

/ 

iw  tmtttes  (pr  gammt  of  tjft 


T  WISH  to  gracious  you  could  attend  one  of  om 
Sewin'  Society  meetin's.  You  never  see  nothiir 
to  beat  'em,  I  '11  be  bound  for  't.  We  Ve  had  tew  now. 
At  the  first  one,  at  Squire  Birsley's,  ther  was  twenty- 
five  present.  Miss  Birsley  bad  got  some  shirts  cut 
out  o'  Cappen  Smalley's  cloth,  and  as  fast  as  they 
come  in  she  sot  'em  to  work  —  at  least  she  gin  'ein 
some  work,  but  ther  was  so  much  talkin'  to  dew  ther 
was  precious  little  sewin'  done.  Ther  tongues  went  a 
good  deal  faster  'n  ther  fingers  did,  and  the  worst  on  't 
was,  they  was  all  a  runnin'  at  once.  Ther  was  an 
everlastin'  sight  o'  talkin',  but  it  did  seem  as  if  they 
wouldent  never  come  to  no  decision  in  creation. 
'T  wa'n't  expected  we  should  dew  much  at  the  first 
meetin'  more  'n  to  elect  the  managers,  and  make  up 
our  minds  how  often  we  should  meet  —  and  I  begun 
to  think  we  shouldent  dew  even  that  much,  there  was 
such  o'  sight  o'  discussin'  and  disputin'  about  every 
thing.  Some  was  for  meetin'  once  a  week,  and  some 


294       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

thought  't  was  altogether  too  often.  Some  was  foi 
stayin'  to  tea,  and  some  was  opposed  to 't.  Some 
thought 't  woull  be  a  good  plan  to  stay  and  work 
evenin's,  and  some  was  of  opinion  't  would  n't  pay, 
bein'  as  we  'd  have  to  burn  so  many  candles  and  lamps 
Ther  wa'n't  nothing  said  about  what  object  we  'd  work 
for  at  the  first  meetin' — thought  we  'd  leave  that  till 
next  time. 

Well,  we  talked  and  talked  and  talked,  and  the  up- 
phot  on 't  was,  Miss  Birsley  was  appinted  president — 
Miss  Ben  Stillman,  Miss  Dr.  Lippincott  and  Miss  Dea- 
con Fustick,  managers — Polly  Mariar  Stillman  secreta- 
ry, and  Liddy  Ann  Buill,  treasurer.  Moreover,  we 
agreed  to  meet  once  a  fortnight,  at  tew  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  stay  to  tea  and  work  till  dark.  When  we  'd 
got  through  with  our  bisness,  we  had  tea — quite  a 
plain  tea.  Miss  Birsley  don't  approve  o'  makin' 
.imch  fuss  for  Sewin'  Society — because  if  ye  dew, 
ther  '11  be  some  that  '11  feel  as  if  they  couldent  afford 
to  have  it  to  their  houses.  She  dident  give  us  but 
one  kind  o'  cake,  but 't  was  light  and  good,  and  so 
was  the  bread ;  and  we  had  sliced  meat  and  cheese. 
Miss  Birsley  dident  say  nothing  about  it  but  she  hoped 
the  rest  would  foller  her  example.  I  made  up  my 
mini  1  would  any  how,  whether  the  rest  did  or  not 

Well  the  ladies  all  eat  as  if  they  liked  it,  and  they 
praised  up  every  thing  at  a  wonderful  rate.  They 
laid  tooth  to  such  bread  in  all  their  lives ;  the 


THE    SEWING    SOCIETY.  295 

batter  was  superfine ;  the  cold  meat  was  delicious,  and 
for  the  cake  it  was  a  mystery  to  them  how  Miss  Birs- 
ley  managed  to  always  to  have  such  first-rate  caka 
Miss  Deacon  Peabody  declared  she  'd  eat  such  a  hearty 
supper  she  was  afeard  she  should  be  sick.  After  tea, 
Miss  Jo  Gipson  invited  us  to  meet  at  their  house  next 
time,  and  then  we  went  hum.  While  we  was  in  the 
bed-room  a  puttin'  on  our  things,  I  heerd  Miss  Pea- 
body  whisper  to  Miss  Stillman  and  say,  "  Did  you  ever 
see  any  thing  that  beat  that  tea  in  all  your  born  days  ? 
No  presarves  at  all !"  "I  never  did,"  says  Miss  Still- 
man. "  If  I  cant't  give  'em  a  better  tea  when  they 
meet  to  our  house,  I  '11  give  up." 

Well,  at  the  next  meetin'  ther  was  about  the  same 
number  present,  and  we  talked  up  what  we  'd  dew 
with  the  money.  The  difficulty  was,  the  members 
couldent  agree  upon  nothin' — some  wanted  to  work 
for  this  objict,  and  some  wanted  to  work  for  that. 
Miss  Skinner  and  some  o'  the  rest  thought  we  'd  ought 
to  sew  for  the  missionaries,  but  most  on  'em  opposed 
it,  'cause  they  wanted  to  see  what  become  o'  the  money. 
Miss  Stubbles  though  't  would  be  a  good  plan  to  es- 
tablish a  school  for  the  colored  sect  — I  s'pose  the  Pro- 
fessor put  her  up  to  't — but  nobody  else  dident  seem 
to  be  in  favor  on  't ;  and  Sister  Bedott  (she  attended), 
she  said  she  never  'd  agree  to  that,  't  would  be  money 
throw'd  away,  for  niggers  would  be  niggers,  dew  what 
ye  would  to  elevate  'em.  Miss  Fustick  (she  come  in 


296       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

and  sot  a  spell  with  her  things  on — said  she  couldent 
.  stay  long,  jest  dropped  in  on  her  way  to  the  Matarnal 
Society  meetm'),  she  thought  we  couldent  dew  better'n 
to  give  the  avails  of  our  labor  to  the  "  Sons  o'  Tem- 
perance.''* "  Sons  o'  yer  granny,"  says  Liddy  Ann 
Buill,  says  she  (you  know  she  and  Miss  Fustick 's  a 
quarrelin'.)  When  she  spoke  up  so,  Miss  Fustick 
looked  awful  mad,  and  got  up  to  go  :  when  she  reach- 
ed che  door,  she  turned  round  and  says  she,  "  Perhaps 
Miss  Buill  would  ruther  work  for  the  Old  Maids' 
Consolation  Society'  that  they  talk  o'  formin'.  Good 
afternoon,  ladies !"  and  off  she  cut  afore  Liddy  Ann 
had  time  to  answer.  The  gals  all  tittered,  and  Liddy 
Ann  lookt  wonderful  womblescropt.  I  don't  know 
but  she  'd  a  cleared  out  if  Miss  Birsley  hadent  a 
smoothed  it  over  in  her  cunnin'  way ,  she  laughed, 
and  says  she,  "  What,  Miss  Buill,  you  gals  don't  mean 
to  help  the  old  maids,  I  hope  ?  I  say  let  'em  take 
care  o'  themselves."  Liddy  Ann  grinned  and  looked 
quite  satisfied. 

Well,  they  talked  and  talked  and  talked,  jest  as 
they  did  at  the  first  meetin',  to  no  more  puruosr  neither 
only  to  git  more  ryled  up  than  they  did  then.  It 
seemed  as  *if  every  one  had  got  a  partickler  pint  to 
carry  and  was  detarmined  the  rest  should  yield  to  't 
I  tried  a  number  o'  times  to  make  a  proposition  I  'd 
thought  on,  but  ther  was  so  many  that  talked  louder 
wid  faster  'n  what  I  could,  that  I  couldent  for  the  life 


THE    SEWING    SOCIETY.  297 

o  me  git  nobody  to  listen  tew  me.  At  last  I  went  to 
Miss  Birsley  and  told  hei  my  idee,  and  axed  her  what 
she  thought  on 't  She  said  she  liked  the  notion 
"  Well,  then,  you  propose  it,"  says  I,  "  for  I  can't  git 
'em  to  listen  to  me  if  I  try  till  Doomsday."  So  she 
spoke  out,  and  says  she,  "  Ladies  !"  but  ther  was  such 
a  racket  nobody  dident  hear  her.  So  she  tried  agin : 
"  Ladies,  I  say  !"  but  still  they  dident  pay  no  attention 
Then  she  took  the  tongs  and  knockt  on  the  stove  as 
loud  as  ever  she  could.  "  Order !"  says  she.  They 
stoppt  talkin'  then,  and  lookt  round  to  see  what  she 
wanted.  "  Ladies,"  says  she,  "  Miss  Magwire  has  pro- 
posed an  object  to  work  for  that  strikes  me  as  an  ex- 
cellent one.  She  thinks  we  'd  better  raise  enough  to 
repair  the  meetin'-house,  and  for  my  part,  I  think  *-e 
couldent  dew  better :  the  meetin'-house  is  in  a  miseia- 
ble  condition ;  the  plasterin's  a  comin'  off  in  ever  so 
many  places,  and  the  pulpit 's  a  forlorn  old  thing, 
away  up  in  the  air ;  it 's  enough  to  break  a  body's  neck 
to  look  at  the  minister,  and  shakes  like  an  old  egg 
shell.  Mr.  Tuttle  says  he  's  a' most  afeard  to  go  into 
it.  Don't  you  think -'t  would  be  a  good  plan  to  tear 
it  down  and  build  another?  Now  don't  all  speak  at 
once.  We  never  shall  dew  nothing  in  creation  if  we 
don't  have  some  sort  o'  order.  Miss  Skinner,  what  'j? 
your  opinion  ?" 

Well,   Miss  Skinner  NQ&  delighted  with  the  idee, 
vid  so  was  the  Grimeses,  and  the  Fosters,  and  the 
13* 


298       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

Peabodys.  Miss  Peabody  said  the  Baptists  and  the 
Episcopals  was  all  a  pintin'  at  us  for  lettin'  our  house 
o'  worship  be  in  such  a  condition.  Mis?  John  Brew- 
ster  said  she  'd  long  thought  our  meetin'-house  was  a 
disgrace  to  the  village ;  she  'd  no  doubt  but  what 
't  would  be  an  advantage  to  the  cause  o'  religion  to 
repair  it,  for  the  Widder  Pettibone  told  her  how 't 
if  we'd  had  a  decent  meetin'-house  she  wouldent  a 
went  off  and  jined  the  Episcopals,  but  she  got  so 
disgusted  with  the  old  nasty  house  and  so  tired  a 
stretchin'  her  neck  to  see  the  minister,  that  she  could- 
ent  stan'  it  no  longer. 

"  The  dear  me  !"  says  Charity  Grimes,  "  I  want  to 
know  if  she  gives  that  as  a  reason !  Why,  every  body 
kncws  she  went  there  'cause  Curnel  Dykeman's  an 
Episcopal." 

"Yes,"  says  Polly  Mariar  Stillman,  "I  gues»  it's 
ginerally  known  what  took  her  there." 

"  She  's  a  wonderful  oneasy  critter,"  says  Miss  Pea- 
body  ;  '*  she  's  ben  a  Baptist  and  a  Presbyterian,  and 
now  she  's  an  Episcopal.  I  wonder  what  she  '11  be 
next." 

"  Well,  it 's  cause  she 's  a  widder,"  says  Glory  Ann 
^illins.  "  I  never  kncw'd  a  widder  yet  but  what  was 
as  oneasy  as  a  fish  out  o'  water.  I  raly  believe  it 's 
nat'ral  tew  'em." 

t(  Jest  so," says  liddy  Ann  Buill  "  widders  will  be 
widders." 


THE    SEWING    SOCIETY.  299 

"  Not  if  they  can  help  it,"  says  I.  1  was  sorry  as 
soon  as  I  said  it^  Sister  Bedott  lookt  so  mad.  I  tell 
ye  she  gin  me  an  awful  blowin-up  when  we  got  hum 
— said  every  body  in  the  room  thought  I  meant  her, 
and  she  dident  mean  to  go  to  the  meetin'  no  more.  I 
don't  know  whether  she  will  or  not. 

Well,  they  'd  got  hold  o'  the  Widder  Pettibone,  and 
they  dident  let  her  drop  right  off:  if  her  ears  dident 
burn  that  afternoon,  I  'm  mistaken.  Some  on  'em  got 
so  engaged  talkin'  about  her  they  stopt  sewin'  intirely. 
Bymeby  Miss  Birsley  got  out  o'  patience,  and  knockt 
on  the  stove.  "Order!"  says  she.  When  they  got 
still,  says  she — "  When  the  ladies  have  got  the  Wid- 
der Pettibone  sufficiently  done  up,  I  'd  like  to  have 
'em  take  hold  and  dew  up  ther  shirts."  "Law  me," 
says  old  Aunt  Betsy  Crocker,  "  they  ain't  a  dewin'  her 
up ;  they  're  a  pickin'  on  her  tew  pieces."  Aunt 
Betsy  ain't  no  great  talker,  but  when  she  does  speak 
she  always  says  somethin'  to  the  pint.  She  's  a  real 
clever  old  soul,  good  to  every  body,  dumb  critters  and 
all.  She  was  disappinted  when  she  was  young,  so  she 
hain't  nevei  got  married ;  lives  all  alone ;  nobody  in 
the  house  but  her  and  Gruff,  hei  old  dog.  She  thinks 
the  world  o'  GruiE  I  went  in  to  see  her  one  evenirr 
last  winter.  Gruff  was  asleep  on  a  rug  behind  the 
stove,  and  ther  was  'a  great  pan  o'  vittals  settin'  by 
him.  I  thought 't  was  somethin'  she  'd  sot  there  tc 
warm,  so  I  says,  says  T,  "  Ain't  yon  afeared  Gruff '11 


300       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

be  pokin'  his  nose  into  yer  meat  ?"  "  Law  me,"  says 
she,  "  that 's  there  a  purpose  for  him.  I  always  set 
eomethin'  by  him  when  he  goes  to  bed,  so  he  '11  find 
it  handy  if  he  nappens  to  wake  up  hungry  in  the 
night."  "My  sakes,"  says  I,  "I  wouldent  take  all 
that  pains  for,a  dog."  "Law  me  1"  says  she,  "Gruff 
don't  know  he  's  a  dog — he  thinks  he  's  folks" 

"  Well,  ladies,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  if  it 's  a  possi- 
ble  thing,  I  'd  like  to  have  it  decided  whether  we  shall 
repair  the  meetin'-house  or  not.  I  think  we  'd  better 
put  it  to  vote.  Them  that 's  in  favor  on  't  will  please 
to  signify  it  by  holdin'  up  their  right  hand."  Well, 
all  o'  the  members  held  up  their  right  hand  exceptin' 
Miss  Ben  Stillman  and  Polly  Mariar.  "  Miss  Still- 
man,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  I  see  that  you  and  Polly 
Mariar  don't  hold  up  yer  hands.  Don't  you  approve 
of  appropriatin'  the  money  for  that  purpose  ?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say  as  I  disapprove  on  't,"  says  Miss 
Stillman,  "  but  I  should  think  we  'd  better  not  be  in 
a  hurry  about  makin'  up  our  minds  what  we  '11  dew 
with  the  money." 

"What's  the  -ise  o'  -vaitin'?"  says  Miss  Birsley. 
"  For  my  part,  I  think  we  should  go  ahead  with  more 
sperrit  if  we  had  an  object  fixed  on  to  work  for."  "  I 
think  so  tew,"  says  Miss  Stillman;  "bat,  you  know, 
we  'd  ought  to  be  unanimous,''  "  Then  why  don't  you 
agree  with  us  ?"  says  Mis?.  Birsley ;  •'  that 's  the  way 
to  be  unanimous." 


THE    SEWIPG    SOCIETY.  301 

<(I  mean,"  sajs  Miss  Stillman,  says  she,  "  tliat  we  M 
ought  to  wait  till  ther  's  a  full  meetin'  afore  we 
vote." 

"The  land  alive!"  says  Miss  Birsley,  ''I  don't 
know  what  you  call  a  fall  meetin'  if  this  ain't 
one." 

"The  fact  is,"  says  Polly  Mariar,  stretchin'  her 
great  mouth  from  ear  to  ear  and  displayin'  all  her  big 
teeth — (Jeff  says  her  mouth  looks  like  an  open  sepul- 
cher  full  o'  dead  men's  bone) — "  the  fact  is,"  says  she, 
"  mar  and  me 's  of  opinion  that  we  hadent  ought  to 
vote  till  Miss  Sam?ron  Savage  is  consulted." 

"  Miss  Samson  Savage  ain't  a  member  o'  the  Society," 
says  Miss  Birsley,  "  and  she  don't  go  to  meetin'  once 
in  six  months.  I  don't  know  what  we  should  want  to 
consult  her  for,  I  'm  sure." 

"  But  you  know,"  says  Miss  Stillman,  "  her  means 
is  such  that  she  's  able  to  contribbit  a  great  deal  to 
any  object  she  approves  of." 

"And  we'd  ought  to  be  careful  about  offendin1 
her,"  says  Polly  Mariar,  "  for,  you  know,  she  with- 
draw'd  herself  from  the  Baptists  because  their  Sewin' 
Society  dident  dew  as  she  wanted  to  have  'em." 

"  Did  the  Baptists  break  down  after  it?"  says  Miss 
Birsley.  Jest  then  the  door  opened,  and  in  marched 
Miss  Samson  Savage.  But  afore  I  go  on,  I  'd  ought 
to  tell  you  something  about  her.  She  's  one  o'  the 
here — that  is,  she  's  got  more  money  thar 


302  WIIOW    BEDOTT    TAPERS 

a'  most  any  body  else  in  town.  She  was  a  tailoress 
when  she  was  a  gal,  and  they  say  she  used  to  make  a 
tactful  sight  o'  mischief  among  the  folks  where  she 
sewed.  But  that  was  when  she  lived  in  Yarmount. 
When  Mr.  Savage  married  har,  he  was  one  o'  these 
ere  specilators.  "Wonderful  fellers  to  make  money, 
them  Yarmounters.  Husband  says  they  come  over  the 
Green  Mountains  with  a  spellin'-book  in  one  hand  and 
a  halter  in  t:  other,  and  if  they  can't  git  a  school  to 
ceach,  they  can  steal  a  hoss.  When  they  first  come 
to  our  place,  he  was  a  follerin'  the  tin-peddlin'  bisness; 
be  used  to  go  rumblin'  round  in  his  cart  from  house 
to  house,  and  the  rich  folks  ruther  turned  up  their 
noses  at  him,  or  he  consated  they  did,  and  it  made 
him  awful  wrathy  ;  so  he  detarmined  he  'd  be  richer  'n 
any  on  'em,  and  pay  'em  off  in  their  own  coin.  Old 
Smith  says  he 's  heerd  him  time  and  agin  make  his 
boast  that  he  'd  ride  over  all  their  heads  some  day — 
dident  seem  to  have  no  higher  eend  in  view  than  to 
be  the  richest  man  in  Scrabble  Hill.  He  sot  his  heart 
and  soul  and  body  on  't,  and  knowin'  how  to  turn 
every  cent  to  the  best  advantage,  and  bein'  wonderful 
sharp  at  a  bargain,  he  succeeded ;  every  thing  he  took 
hold  of  prospered,  and  without  actilly  bein'  what  you 
could  call  dishonest,  afore  many  years  every  body 
allowed  he  was  the  richest  man  in  the  place.  So  he 
built  a  great  big  stun  house  and  furnished  it  wonder- 
ful grand,  his  wife  wouldent  have  a  bit,  o'  furnitewer 


THE    SEWING-    SOCIETY.  303 

uade  here — nothin'  woald  dew  but  she  must  send 
away  to  Philadelphy  for 't.  And  such  farnitewer  was 
never  seen  in  the  town  afore !  Such  elegant  sofys  and 
cheers  and  curtins,  and  ever  so  many  curus  consarns 
that  I  don't  know  the  name  of,  and  I  guess  she  don't 
neither.  So  she  sot  up  for  a  lady.  She  was  always  a 
coarse,  boisterous,  high-tempered  critter,  and  when 
her  husband  grow'd  rich,  she  grow'd  pompous  and 
overbearin'.  She  made  up  her  mind  she  'd  rule  the 
roast,  no  matter  what  it  cost — she  'd  be  the  first  in 
Scrabble  Hill.  She  know'd  she  wa'n't  a  lady  by  natur 
nor  by  eddication,  but  she  thought  mabby  other  folks 
would  be  fools  enough  to  think  she  was  if  she  made 
a  great  parade.  So  she  begun  by  dressin'  more,  and 
givin'  bigger  parties  than  any  body  else.  Of  course, 
them  that  thinks  money  's  the  main  thing  (and  ther  's 
plenty  such  here  and  every  where),  is  ready  to  flatter 
her  and  make  a  fuss  over  her,  and  approve  of  all  her 
dewin's.  If  ther 's  any  body  that  won't  knuckle  tew 
her,  I  tell  ye  they  have  to  take  it  about  east.  She 
abuses  'em  to  their  faces  and  slanders  'em  to  their 
backs.  Such  conduct  wouldent  be  put  up  with  in 
a  poor  woman ;  but  them  that  would  be  for  drummin 
me  out  o'  town  if  I  should  act  so,  is  ready  to  uphold 
Miss  Samson  Savage,  and  call  it  independence  and 
frankness  in  her.  She  's  got  so  she  prides  herself  on 
it.  She  says  she  ain't  afeard  to  tell  folks  what  she 
think  of  'em — if  she  don't  like  any  body,  they  know 


304  WIDOW    B  E  I>  O  T  T    PAPERS 

it  party  soon.  Husband  says  she  wouldent  think  it 
no  harm  to  set  her  neighbor's  house  a  fire  if  she  done 
it  in  the  day-time.  She  shows  her  independence  in 
another  way  sometimes,  by  riggin'  out  in  old  duds 
that  would  disgrace  a  washerwoman,  and  trainin'  round 
town,  inakin'  calls  and  so  forth,  sometimes  in  an  old 
wagin  and  sometimes  afoot.  It  tickles  her  wonder- 
fully to  hear  folks  whisper  as  she  goes  along — "  Jest 
see  Miss  Savage  !  that'll  dew  for  her,  but  'twonldent 
do  for  every  body." 

When  she  goes  out  in  company,  she  'nopolizes  the 
hull  o'  the  conversation.  She 's  detarmined  that  every 
body  in  the  room  shall  have  the  benefit  of  all  she  has 
to  say.  So  she  talks  up  so  awful  loud  that  she 
drownds  every  body  else's  voice,  and  they  have  to 
listen  tew  her  whether  or  no.  I  was  to  a  party  a  spell 
ago  where  she  was,  and  from  the  minnit  she  come  in 
— (thank  fortin'  she  never  comes  arly — always  keeps 
the  tea  a  waitin'  for  her) — I  say,  from  the  minnit  she 
come  till  it  broke  up,  she  talked  without  ceesation.  It 
did  seem  to  me  as  if  I  should  go  distracted.  In  the 
course  o'  the  evenin',  somebody  axed  Pardon  Petti- 
bone's  wife  (she  't  was  Katy  Carey)  to  play  on  the 
pianner  and  sing :  she  's  a  beautiful  .player,  and  I  'm 
very  fond  o'  hearin'  her.  When  she  sot  down  to  the 
music,  thinks  me,  Miss  Savage  will  hold  her  tongue 
now,  I  'm  sure.  But  I  was  mistaken.  She  wa'n't  a 
gwine  to  be  put  lown  by  a  pianner,  not  she,  so  she 


THE    SEWING    SOCIETY.  806 

jesfc  pitched  her  voice  a  peg  higher  and  went  on  with 
her  stuff— all  about  her  hired  help — what  Bets,  the 
cook,  done ;  how  Suke,  the  chambermaid,  managed, 
and  how  Nab,  the  washerwoman,  carried  sail.  I 
couldent  take  no  sense  o'  the  music  at  all.  Miss  Still- 
man  and  Polly  Mariar,  and  a  few  more,  draw'd  up 
round  her  and  swallered  all  she  said,  but  some  o'  the 
young  folks  that  wanted  to  hear  the  music,  lookt  as 
if  they  wished  Miss  Samson  Savage  was  furder. 

But  it 's  plain  to  be  seen  with  all  her  pretensions 
she  feels  oneasy  and  oncomfortable  the  hull  time. 
I  Ve  noticed  that  yer  codfish  gentility  always  dew.  She 
knows  she  ain't  the  ginniwine  article,  and  so  she  tries 
to  make  up  for  't  in  brass  and  bluster.  If  any  thing 
goes  on  without  her  bein'  head  man,  she  always  trie? 
to  put  it  down.  She  was  gone  a  journey  when  the 
Sewin'  Society  was  started,  and  I  s'pose  she  was  awful 
mad  to  think  we  darst  to  git  up  such  a  thing  without 
consul  tin'  her.  Miss  Birsley  called  on  her  when  she 
got  hum,  and  axed  her  to  jine.  But  she  said  she 
wouldent — she  despised  Sewin'  Societies,  dident  want 
nothin'  to  dew  with  'em.  Miss  Birsley  dident  tell  no- 
body what  she  said  but  me ;  she  know'd  't  would 
make  some  o'  the  wimmin  mad  and  scare  the  rest — 
but  we  both  know'd  't  wouldent  be  long  afore  she  '<3 
be  pokin'  her  nose  :n  among  us. 

"Well,  as  T  said  afore,  she  came  a  marchin  into  the 
room  where  we  all  sot  She  's  a  great,  tall,  raw-boned 


306       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

woman,  and  sLe  steps  off  like  a  trainer.  She  had  on 
a  dirty  pink  sun-bun  nit,  and  an  old  ragged  blue  calioer 
open-gownd  (what  Jeff  calls  a  shelaly}  over  her  dress. 
She  dident  so  much  as  say  "  How-de-dew"  to  nobody, 
but  strammed  right  across  the  room  and  sot  down ; 
then  she  huv  her  old  sun-bunnit  onto  the  floor,  and 
draw'd  a  long  breath,  and  says  she — "  Well,  I  vow 
I  'm  tired — ben  round  a  shoppin',  and  shoppin'  's  no 
small  bisness  with  me.  I  don't  go  into  a  shop  and 
stan'  an  hour,  and  make  the  clerks  haul  down  all  ther 
goods,  and  then  buy  few-cents'  worth,  as  some  folks 
dew" — here  she  lookt  round  at  Miss  Grimes  and 
Charity — "  when  /  trade,  I  trade  to  some  amount, 
and  no  mistake.  I  was  ruther  tired  afore  I  left  hum 
— had  company  to  dinner — dident  think  o'  comin' 
here  when  I  come  out — "  Caroline  Gipson  thought 
Bhe  was  a  gwine  to  apologize  for  her  dress,  so  she  says 
says  she,  "  Oh,  no  apologies  necessary — 't  was  jest  as 
well  to  come  in  as  you  was."  "  What  I"  says  she,  "  I 
hope  ye  don't  think  I'd  a  dressed  up  if  I  had  a  know'd 
I  was  a  comin'  here? — not  I.  I  don't  believe  in  rig- 
gin'  up  to  come  to  a  sewin'  meetin',  as  some  folks 
dew" — (here  she  squinted  at  the  Skinners — they  had 
on  new  plaid  dresses) — "  but 't  ain't  every  body  that 
can  afford  to  wear  an  old  double  gownd.  I  says  to 
Poll,  my  waitin'-maid,  '  Poll.'  says  I,  '  go  to  the  lumber- 
room  and  git  my  sun-bunnit  and  my  blue  calicer 
double  gownd  ;  I  'm  a  gwioe  out.'  '  Massy  sakes !' 


THE    SEWING    SOCIETY.  807 

says  Poll  says  she,  '  does  Miss  Savage  know 't  the 
blue  double  gownd  has  got  one  sleeve  a'  most  ripped 
out,  and  the  linnin  's  all  tore  so  't  it  hangs  down  below 
the  outside  round  the  bottom?'  'Poll,'  says  I,  'if 
't  wa'n't  that  you  Ve  jest  come  out  o'  Pennsylvany 
woods,  and  don't  know  nothin'  about  manners  yet, 
I  'd  discharge  ye  on  the  spot  for  darin'  to  question  me, 
or  make  any  remarks  about  what  I  order.  I  '11  for- 
give ye  this  time  on  account  o'  yer  ignorance,  but  if 
ever  you  dew  it  agin  you  '11  git  your  walkin'-ticket  on 
short  order,  as  sure  as  my  name 's  Miss  Samson 
Savage.  Now  start  yer  stumps,  and  fetch  them  things 
quick  meeter.'  So  she  fetcht  'em,  and  I  went  and 
done  my  shoppin'.  On  my  way  hum,  it  struck  me 
that  you  was  to  meet  here  to-day,  so  thinks  me,  I  '11 
jest  step  in  and  see  what  they  're  up  tew."  "  Will 
you  take  some  sewin'?"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "  Not  I," 
says  she,  "  till  I  know  what  I  'm  a  sewin'  for.  What 
do  ye  calculate  to  dew  with  the  money  ye  raise  ?" 

"We  thought,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "that  is,  the 
majority  of  us  thought 't  would  be  a  good  idee  to  am 
enough  to  repair  the  meetinghouse  and  build  a  new 
pulpit."  " Murder!"  says  Miss  Savage ;  "  well,  I  vow 
if  that  wouldent  be  a  worthy  object."  "  So  you  don't 
approve  on 't,  hey?"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "Approve 
on?t?"  says  she;  "not  I." 

"  No  more  don't  me  and  Polly  Mariar,"  says  Mias 
Stillman.  Miss  Savage  went  on :  "I  'd  look  purty 


308       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

wouldent  I,  a  workin'  to  fix  up  that  meetin'-house  foi 
Tuttle  to  preach  in !"  "  So  you  don't  like  Mr.  Tuttle, 
hey?"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "Like  him?"  says  she; 
"  not  I.  He  don't  know  nothin' — can't  preach  no 
more'n  that  stove-pipe" — (she  hates  Parson  Tuttle 
'cause  he  hain't  never  paid  no  more  attention  to  her 
than  he  has  to  the  rest  o'  the  congregation) — "  he  's 
as  green  as  grass  and  as  flat  as  a  pancake."  "  That 's 
jest  what  mar  and  me  thinks,"  says  Polly  Mariar 
Stillman.  Miss  Savage  went  on:  "He  don't  know 
B  from  a  broomstick,  nor  bran  when  the  bag  's  open." 
"  That 's  jest  what  I  think,"  says  Miss  Stillman.  "  I 
says  to  Mr.  Stillman  last  Sabbath,  as  we  was  a  comin' 
from  meetin',  '  Mr.  Stillman'  says  I" — But  what 't  was 
she  said  to  Mr.  Stillman,  dear  knows,  for  Miss  Savage 
dident  let  her  go  on.  "I  say,"  says  she,  "I'd  look 
beautiful  a  comin'  to  Sewin'  Society  and  workin'  the 
eends  o'  my  fingers  off  to  build  a  pulpit  for  Tuttle  to 
be  poked  up  in  Sabbath  after  Sabbath,  and  preach  off 
jest  what  he 's  a  mind  tew.  No — ye  don't  ketch  me 
a  takin'  a  stich  for  such  an  object.  I  despise  Tuttle, 
and  I  '11  tell  him  so  tew  his  face  when  I  git  a  chance. 
Ye  don't  ketch  me  a  slanderin'  folks  behind  ther 
backs  and  then  soft-soapin'  'em  to  their  faces,  as  somo 
folks  dew" — (here  she  lookt  at  Miss  Stillman  and 
Polly  Mariar.)  "  And  where 's  his  wife,  I  'd  like  to 
know?  Why  ain't  she  here  to  work  to-day?  A 
purty  piece  o'  bisness,  I  must  say,  for  you  all  to  be 


THE    SEWING    SOCIETY.  309 


here  a  diggin'  away  to  fix  up  Tattle's  meetin1 
when  she's  to  hum  a  playin'  lady"  "Miss  Tattle 
ain't  very  well,"  says  L  "That's  a  likely  story;' 
says  Miss  Savage ;  and  from  that  she  went  on  and 
blazed  away  about  Miss  Tuttle  at  a  terrible  rate.  Misa 
Stillman  and  Polly  Mariar.  and  a  number  more  o'  the 
wimmin,  sot  tew  and  helped  her  whenever  they  could 
git  a  word  in  edgeways ;  and  such  a  haulin'  over  as 
Miss  Tuttle  and  the  parson  got,  I  never  heerd  afore 
m  all  the  days  o'  my  life. 

While  they  was  in  the  midst  on't,  Miss  G:pson 
come  to  the  door  and  axed  us  to  walk  out  to  tea — 
she  'd  ben  out  all  the  afternoon  a  gittin'  it  reddy — so 
we  put  up  our  work  and  went  out.  We  don't  have 
the  tea  handed  round  at  our  meetin's  as  a  gineral 
thing ;  we  have  the  things  sot  on  a  long  table ;  the 
woman  o'  the  house  pours  tea  at  one  eend,  and  we  all 
stan'  round  and  help  ourselves.  It 's  very  convenient, 
especially  where  they*  don't  keep  no  help.  Well,  we 
all  took  hold,  and  for  a  while  Parson  Tuttle  and  hia 
wife  and  every  body  else  had  a  restin'  spell,  for  even 
Miss  Samson  Savage  had  other  use  for  her  tongue. 
She  believes  in  dewin'  one  thing  to  once.  Whbn  she 
eats  she  eats — and  when  she  talks  she  talks. 

And  we  had  a  real  nice  tea,  I  tell  ye — biscuit  and 
butter,  and  crackers  and  cheese,  and  cold  meat  and 
pickles,  and  custard  and  whipt  cream,  and  three  kinds 
o'  presarves,  and  four  kinds  o'  cake,  and  what  not1 


310  WIDOW    BEDGTT    PAPERS. 

I  couldent  help  o'  thinkin'  that  the  money  laid  out  on 
that  tea  would  a  went  a  good  way  toward  the  new 
pulpit. 

"What  delightful  biscuit,"  says  Miss  Grimes 
"They  are  so,"  says  Miss  Skinner;  "but  Miss  Gip- 
son  never  has  poor  biscuit."  "  0  shaw !"  says  Miss 
Gipson,  "  you  ain't  in  arnest :  my  biscuits  is  miserable 
— not  nigh  so  good  as  common.  I  don't  think  the 
flour  's  first  rate."  "Miss  Gipson,  how  dew  you 
make  crackers?"  says  Miss  Stillman  ;  "I  never  tasted 
none  so  good."  "  Now  you  don't  mean  so,"  says  Miss 
Gipson.  "  I  can  make  good  crackers,  but  them  's  very 
poor;  the  oven  wa'n't  jest  right  when  I  put  'em  in." 
*'  I  mitst  have  another  piece  o'  this  cheese,  it  ?s  so  good," 
says  Miss  Lippincott.  "Where  did  you  git  it?' 
"  Well,  I  got  it  of  old  Daddy  Sharp :  he  ginerally 
makes  excellent  cheese,  but  I  tell  Mr.  Gipson  old 
Sharp's  failed  for  once — that 's  what  I  call  poor  cheese." 
"  Dew  taste  o'  this  plum  sass,  Miss  Peabody,"  says 
Miss  Brewster ;  "  I  never  see  the  beat  on  V  "  I  'd 
ruther  have  these  peaches,"  says  Miss  Peabody; 
"  they  're  derlidous.  It  is  a  mystery  to  me  how  Miss 
Gipsdh  always  has  such  luck  with  her  presarves. 
I  never  dew,  and  I  always  take  pound  for  pound  tew." 
"  This  apple-jel  's  the  clearest  I  ever  see,"  says  old  Miss 
Parker.  "  How  did  you  make  it,  Miss  Gipson  ?  Did- 
ent  you  dew  it  in  the  sun  ?  I  'm  sure  it  don't  look  a« 
if  it  ever  was  nigh  the  fire."  "  Now  don't  speak  o' 


THE    SEWING    SOCIETY.  311 

that  jel,"  says  Miss  Gipson.  "  I  told  Carline  I  was 
ashamed  o'  mj  jel  after  seein'  Miss  Parker's,  and  I  was 
a'most  sorry  I  'd  made  any  presarves  since  I  'd  eat 
some  o'  Miss  Peabody's  and  Miss  Skinner's,  theirn  was 
.w  much  nicer."  So  they  went  on.  The  whipt  cream 
and  custard  had  to  be  gone  :>ver :  Miss  Gipson  had  to 
tell  jest  how  't  was  made — what  flavorin'  she  used, 
and  all  that — though  she  declared  she  was  ashamed 
on 't.  The  cake  was  praised  up :  they  must  know 
how  much  butter  ther  was  in  this,  how  many  eggs  it 
took  for  that  and  so  forth.  Miss  Gipson,  of  course, 
run  it  down — she  could  make  good  cake,  but  somehow 
she  failed  that  time.  A  person  that  dident  know  how 
wimmin  always  go  on  at  such  a  place,  would  a  thought 
that  Miss  Gipson  had  tried  to  have  every  thing  the 
miserablest  she  possibly  could,  and  that  the  rest  on 
'em  had  never  had  any  thing  to  hum  but  what  waa 
miserabler  yet. 

Weil,  every  thing  arthly  comes  to  an  eend,  and  so 
did  that  tea  after  a  spell,  and  purty  soon  after  we  went 
hum.  Miss  Stillman  invited  us  to  meet  to  their  house 
next  time.  She  urged  Miss  Sampson  Savage  to  come, 
and  I  don't  doubt  but  what  she  will  if  she  thinks 
ther  's  any  chance  for  kickin'  up  a  muss.  I  was  in  to 
Miss  Birsley's  the  next  day,  and  she  and  I  talked  it 
over.  She  says  we  hain't  accomplished  much  yit,  for 
some  o'  the  work's  done  so  miserable  't  won't 
never  sell  in  creation  without  it 's  picked  out  and 


312       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEKS. 

done  over  better.  The  rest  is  put  together  wrong, 
and  has  got  to  be  took  to  pieces  whether  or  no.  FOT 
my  part,  I  feel  euy  most  discouraged  about  the  Sewin' 
Society. 


XXVI. 

in's  Pisii  t0  SUbtirton. 


T  '  VE  ben  a  journey  sence  I  saw  you,  Nancy,  away 
down  to  Slabtown,  to  see  a  cousin  o'  husband's 
that  lives  there.  She  't  was  Eunice  Ludlow,  she  mar- 
ried a  Bentley,  carpenter  and  jiner  by  trade.  They 
moved  from  Coon's  Holler  to  Slabtown  about  five 
year  ago,  and  there  he  follered  the  lumberin'  business, 
and  done  very  well  at  it.  I  hadent  seen  'em  since 
they  went  away,  and  bein'  as  she  urged  me  very  hard 
and  made  me  promise  I  'd  come  out  there  the  last  time 
she  was  to  our  house,  I  thought  I  'd  ought  to  go.  I 
used  to  set  a  great  deal  by  Eunice  when  she  was  a  gal. 
I  thought  there  never  was  a  happier  couple  than  she 
and  Bentley  was  when  they  lived  at  the  Holler.  He 
had  a  good  trade  and  was  industrious,  and  so  was  she, 
and  they  got  along  first  rate.  And  then  they  had  a 
couple  o'  the  nicest  behaved  children  that  I  ever  see. 
Lucy,  the  eldest,  was  about  eight  year  old  when  they 
moved  away,  and  Henry  was  five  or  six. 

But  I  found  things  considerably  altered  since  they 
come  to  Slabtown.     It  's  quite  a  big  place,  as  big  agin 
14 


314       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

as  Scrabble  Hill  and  growin'  bigger  all  the  time. 
Eunice  had  got  her  idees  raised  a  good  deal,  and  had 
some  wonderful  curus  notions  about  giiitility.  The 
house  was  furnished  mighty  grand,  and  she  dident  dew 
Uer  own  work  as  she  used  to  ac  the  Holler,  but  kept 
a  great  slatterin',  imperdent  hired  gal,  that  done  jest 
as  she  was  a  mind  tew  about  every  thing. 

Lucy,  tew,  she  was  a  growin'  up  ginteel.  She  's 
got  to  be  the  proudest  little  thing  that  ever  I  see, 
peart  and  bold,  and  right  up  in  every  body's  face  and 
eyes,  stickin'  in  her  gab  all  the  time,  and  nippin'  round 
with  a  couple  of  awful  long  pigtails  with  bows  on  the 
eends,  a  danglin'  down  her  back. 

Henry,  he  's  about  as  hateful  a  young  one  as  ever 
went  unflogged.  I  used  to  dread  his  comin'  hum  from 
school;  for  he  went  yellin'  and  hollerin'  round  the 
house,  kickin'  and  spittin',  and  sassin'  every  body  that 
spoke  to  him.  I  actilly  heerd  him  swear  a  number  o' 
times.  And  he 's  out  in  the  streets  late  o'  nights, 
playin'  and  fightin'  with  all  sorts  o'  boys.  I  talked  to 
his  father  about  it,  told  him  I  thought  he  'd  ought  to 
keep  Henry  in  o'  nights,  and  be  more  particklar  about 
his  'sociates.  But  he  haw-haw'd  right  out  in  my  face ; 
" Shaw,  Aunt  Magwire,"  says  he,  "that 's  all  cant  I 
bolieve  in  lettin'  boys-  run  ;  it 's  the  only  way  to  make 
'em  independent."  "Sam  Bentley,"  says  I,  "you 
ain't  the  man  you  usei  to  be.  When  you  lived  to 
Uie  Holler,  you  was  :[uite  partic'lar  about  yer  chil- 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  815 

dien,  and  about  yerself  tew ;  for  I  remember  you 
used  to  go  to  meetin'  quite  stiddy  with  Eunice,  and 
always  had  prayers  in  yer  family  night  and  mornin'." 
Don't  never  mention  that  agin,"  says  he;  "I'm 
ashamed  on 't  I  was  green  in  them  days ;  now  I  've 
got  morf  iniarged  views.  The  fact  is,  Aunt  Magwire, 
Slabtowk  :£  a  great  place.  If  I  'd  a  stayed  at  Coon's 
Holler,  ten  to  one,  I  'd  a  went  on  in  that  snivelling 
eantin',  go-to-meetin'  way  all  my  life."  "Like 
enough/'  says  I ;  "  and  mabby  got  to  heaven  in  it  last. 
Slabtown  is  a  great  place,  and  no  mistake."  Sam  did- 
ent  say  no  more. 

Eunice  dident  seem  to  be  very  proud  o'  me,  I'm 
such  a  plain,  homemade  body.  She  never  introduced 
me  to  none  of  her  ginteel  acquaintances  when  they 
called ;  so,  as  I  dident  have  nothing  to  say,  I  used  tt 
have  the  benefit  of  all  the  conversation,  and  sartinly 
'twas  quite  entertain'.  They  ginerally  begun  with 
the  fashions.  Next,  they  took  up  the  subject  o'  hired 
gals,  and  when  they  'd  wore  that  out,  the  neighbor- 
hood in  gineral  had  to  undergo  a  haulin'  over.  'T  was 
pretty  much  the  same  as  it  is  in  Scrabble  Hill,  only  I 
think  the  Slabtown  folks  make  rather  more  fuss  over 
each  other  to  their  faces,  than  what  they  dew  in  our 
'place. 

One  afternoon,  there  was  a  youngish  married  wo- 
man by  the  name  o'  Miss  Teeters  called.  She  and 
Eunice  are  quite  intimit ;  though,  after  all,  Eunice 


316      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

don't  seem  to  think  much  of  her,  but  she  considers 
her  wonderful  ginteel.  Her  gintility  seemed  to  con 
Bist  in  her  wearin'  more  colors  than  I  ever  see  on  to 
once  afore  in  all  mj  born  days.  She  had  on  a  yaller 
bunnit,  with  a  great  pink  artificial  on  it ;  a  red  shawl, 
and  a  green  silk  frock,  and  blue  ribbin  round  her 
neck,  and  I  forget  what  all;  but  t'was  enough  to 
make  a  body's  eyes  ache  to  look  at  her. 

After  they  'd  gone  over  with  the  fashions,  says  Miss 
Teeters,  says  she :  "  I  see  you  keep  Marthy  yet ;  how 
do  you  git  along  with  her  ?" 

But  afore  Eunice  had  time  to  answer  her,  the  door 
was  banged  open,  and  the  very  Miss  Hawkins  they  'd 
ben  talkin'  about  come  bowsin  into  the  the  room  with- 
out ever  ringin'  the  bell.  She  was  clear  out  o'  breath ; 
for  she 's  quite  a  fleshy  woman.  Her  face  was  as  red 
as  a  blaze,  and  her  green  satin  sack  was  all  one-sided. 
She  looked  as  if  she  'd  fixed  in  a  wonderful  hurry  and 
run  all  the  way.  "  What 's  to  pay  ?"  says  Miss  Tee- 
ters and  Eunice  in  a  breath.  She  couldent  speak  for 
a  minnit  or  so,  she  was  so  exhausted.  I  got  up  and 
giv  her  the  rockin'-cheer  I  was  a  sittin'  in,  and  she 
squoze  herself  into  it,  and  says  she — 

"  Have  you  heerd  the  news  ?" 

"  What  news?"  says  Mis?  Teeters  and  Miss  Bentley, 
open  in'  their  mouths  and  eyes  and  stretchin'  their 
necks.  "  What  news? — dew  tell,  foi  pity's  sake  I" 

"  0  dear  me,  suz,"  says  she,  "  I  never  was  so  dum- 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  317 

foundered  in  all  my  life.  Cousin  Jeemes  was  in  to 
our  house  nci  half  an  hour  ago,  and  read  it  to  Sary 
Ann  and  me  1  thought  I  'd  run  in  and  see  if  Miss 
Teetere  had  heerd  on  ;t  They  said  she  was  over  to 
Mr.  Bentley's,  so  I  come  right  on  here." 

•'Well,  what  isil,  in  the  name  o'  wonder?"  says 
Miss  Teeters,  says  she. 

•'  O  dear  me,''  says  Miss  Hawkins,  a  bio  win'  herself 
with  her  handkercher  as  hard  aa  ever  she  could.  "  0 
dear  me,  ther  's  the  awfulest  piece  that  you  ever  see, 
come  out  in  the  'Ladies  Book,'  and  it's  all  about  our 
Sewm'  Society,  takin'  us  off  to  an  ioty,  and  tellin'  all 
how  we  go  on ;  and,  of  course,  't  was  writ  in  this  vil- 
lage." 

"You  don't?''  says  Miss  Teeters,  says  she. 

"It's  a  fact5"  says  Miss  Hawkins.  "And  what's 
worse  yet,  our  minister's  wife  writ  it." 

''  How  you  talk  1"  says  Miss  Teeters. 

''  "Well,  I  shouldent  wonder,"  says  Eunice,  says  she. 
1  foi  I  Ve  heerd  that  your  minister's  wife  writes  for  the 
papers.  But,  pray,  what  does  it  say  ?" 

Oh,"  says  Miss  Hawkins,  "  as  true  as  I  'm  a  live 
woman,  it 's  got  every  one  of  our  members  in,  an.'] 
*hows  us  all  up  shamefully,  only  jest  me  and  Sary 
Ann.  1  can't  see  as  ther  's  any  body  in  it  that  re- 
sembles us  a  mite.  But  you're  drawed  out,  Miss 
Teeisrs ;  and  Cappen  Sapley,  he 's  down  large  as  life  ; 
and  the  Boinans  are  in  for 't;  and  so  's  Bill  Swecze/s 


318       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

wife,  and  Samanthy  Cooper,  and  Tom  Baily  's  wife 
and  Miss  Ben  Curtis ;  and  there 's  a  Miss  Siillman  and 
her  daughter,  that 's  meant  for  the  Longs.  They  're 
all  fictitious  names,  to  be  sure,  but  it 's  easy  enough 
.to  tell  who 's  who.  But  the  squire's  wife  ketches  h 
the  worst  of  all.  I  tell  ye,  it  takes  her  off  tc  nis. 
Nobody  can  mistake  it.  Jeemes  wouldent  let  us  keep 
it,  or  I  'd  a  fetcht  it  over.  He  war  gvvine  to  take  it  in 
to  the  Bomanses.  I  hope  you  '11  get  hold  on 't ;  for 
of  all  the  abominable  messes  that  ever  I  see,  it 's  the 
crownin'  pint." 

"  Will,  I  never  heerd  the  beat  on 't,"  says  Miss  Tee- 
ters. 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  says  Eunice.  "  I  should  think  a 
minister's  wife  might  be  in  better  business.  "Well. 
I  'm  glad  I  don't  belong  to  your  Society.  I  ain't  took 
off,  that 's  sartin.  But  how  do  you  know  it  actilly 
means  your  Society  ?"  . 

"Oh,  that's  plain  enough,"  says  Miss  Hawkins, 
"  for  it  tells  things  that  was  positively  said  and  doL  e 
at  some  o'  the  meetin's.  Jest  how  the  squire's  wife 
went  on  ;  calls  her  'Miss  Samson  Savage.' "  (I  begun 
to  prick  up  my  ears.  Thinksme,  what  on  airth  docs 
all  this  mean  ?) — "  But  the  mystery  to  me  is,  how  tbe 
minister's  wife  got  hold  on 't.  She  wa'n't  there. 
Somebody  that  was  there  must  a  told  her.  I  wonder 
who  't  was  ?" 

Miss  Teeters  turned  rather  red.    I  thought  she 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  319 

looktd  kind  o  guilty ;  and  says  she :  "  It 's  abominable 
— it 's  ridicilous !  I  '11  go  right  home  and  tell  my  hu5 
band  how  the  minister's  wife  's  ben  writin'  about  me , 
and  I  shouldent  wonder  if  he  should  take  the  matter 
up — he  's  cowhided  a  number  of  individdiwals  for 
speakin'  disparagin'  o'  me.  But  has  the  squire's  wife 
heerdon't?" 

''No,"  says  Miss  Hawkins.  "I  stopt  there  as  I 
come  along,  but  she  'd  gone  out  o'  town.  Won't  she 
be  mad,  though ;  she 's  such  a  fiery  critter  !" 

"I  say,"  says  Miss  Teeters,  says  she,  "it's  high 
time  we  got  rid  o'  the  minister ;  he  ain't  the  man  for 
us.  A  ginteel  and  inteilectible  congregation  like  our'n 
had  ought  to  have  a  man  o'  great  eloquential  powers. 
And  as  for  his  wife,  I  never  could  bear  her,  with  Ler 
old  stripid  dress  that  she  wears  every  Sunday,  rain  or 
shine.  I  don't  believe  she  was  ever  accustomed  to 
ginteel  society." 

"Nor  I  neither,"  says  Miss  Hawkins.  "I  took  a 
dislike  tew  her  when  they  first  come  here.  I  don't 
like  yer  mum  characters  that  never  say  nothin'  about 
nobody.  It  seems  she 's  ben  savin'  on  't  up  to  let  off 
in  the  newspapers.  Bethiar  Nobles  says  she  told  her 
she  thought  our  congregation  drest  tew  much ;  and  I 
shouldent  wonder  if  she  did,  for  she  '  stuck  to  that  old 
straw  bunnit  and  everlastin'  stripid  dress  all  winter, 
and  I  s'pose  it 's  to  set  an  example  o'  plainness  afore 
us,  jest  as  if  we  'd  foller  her  lead.  For  my  part,  I  think 


820  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

she  might  better  spend  more  time  a  dressin',  and  less 
a  writin'  for  the  newspapers.  And  they  say  he  in- 
courages  her  in  it,  and  likes  to  have  her  write.  I  wish 
they  was  both  furder  off." 

"  I  wish  so  tew,"  says  Miss  Seeters ;  '*  and  I  guess 
ther  's  a  good  many  that  wish  so.  She  ain't  popilar  at 
all  in  our  set.  She  never  runs  in  sociably,  as  Miss 
Van  Dozen  used  to.  They  say  she  goes  a  great  deal 
more  among  the  poor  folks,  than  she  does  among  the 
giuteel  part  o'  the  congregation.  And  that 's  a  sure 
sign,  /  think,  that  she  's  ben  more  accustomed  to  ming- 
lin'  with  them  sort  o'  folks,  than  with  such  as  we  be." 

Well,  they  blazed  away  in  that  style  for  as  much  as 
an  hour.  I  can't  remember  half  they  said ;  and  Eunice 
she  told  'em  that  if  she  was  they,  she  wouldent  put  up 
with  it;  she'd  make  a  fuss  about  it,  and  have  the 
minister  sent  off. 

As  soon  as  they  'd  gone,  Eunice  burst  out  a  laughin', 
and  says  she :  "  "Well,  if  that  ain't  the  best  piece  o' 
news  I  've  heerd  this  many  a  day.  I  've  always  heerd 
that  that  Sewin'  Society  was  a  reg'lar  slander-mill, 
where  the  principal  busines  is  to  brew  mischief  against 
the  minister ;  and  I  'm  glad  they  've  got  showed  up  at 
last.  The  minister 's  a  good  man,  and  a  smart  man 
tew :  but  the  biggest  part  o'  the  congregation  is  such  a 
set  of  ignoramuses,  that  they  don't  know  a  smart  man 
from  a  fool.  They  always  make  a  great  fuss  over 
theii  minister  when  he  first  comes ;  but  if  he  don't 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWtf.  321 

preach  smooth  things  tew  'em  all  the  time,  they  soon 
contrive  to  starve  him  out  or  quarrel  him  off.  When 
they  gin  this  one  a  call,  they  agreed  to  give  him  five 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  pay  it  quarterly.  And  it 
is  a  solemn  fact,  that  half  on 't  hain't  ben  paid  yet. 
Betsey  Hall,  a  girl  that  used  to  wash  for  'em  some- 
times, told  me  so.  She  said  she  'd  often  listened  to 
the  door,  and  heerd  the  minister  and  his  wife  a  talkin' 
over  their  troubles ;  and  she  says  that  ther  ain't  more  'n 
half  a  dozen  in  the  congregation  that  pay  their  dues 
reglarly  ;  and  if  't  wa'n't  for  what  the  minister's  wife 
gits  for  writin'  for  the  newspapers,  they  wouldent  be 
able  to  pay  their  house-rent  and  keep  out  o'  debt,  no 
way.  She  said  she  overheerd  him  say  to  his  wife  one 
day :  *  The  quarter's  rent  11  be  due  next  Saturday,  and 
I  hain't  a  cent  to  pay  it.'  '  Keep  up  your  courage  my 
dear,'  says  she,  *  perhaps  I  shall  have  somethin'  from 
Philadelphy  before  then.'  And  Betsey  said  she  guess- 
ed it  come,  for  she  was  knowin'  to  the  rent  bein'  paid 
the  next  Saturday.  I  couldent  help  laughin'  in  my 
sleeve  when  Miss  Teeters  was  a  tellin'  how  much  bet- 
ter Parson  Yan  Duzen's  wife  was  liked  than  this  one. 
They  abused  her  like  a  pickpocket  when  she  was  here 
and  was  always  a  runnin'  her  down.  She  couldent 
dew  nothin'  to  please  'em." 

"  Eunice,"  said  I,  why  dident  you  talk  so  when  they 
was  in,  and  tell  'em  plainly  to  iheir  faces  what  you 
thought." 

H* 


822  WIDOW    BEEOTT    PAPERS. 

"  0  law,"  says  she,  "  I  dident  want  to  get  mixed  up 
in  their  quarrels."  And  then  she  throw'd  on  her 
things  and  run  off  to  some  o'  the  neighbors  to  tell  the 
news  and  talk  over  it.  She  was  gone  till  tea  time. 
But  she  dident  have  the  satisfaction  o'  tellin'  the  story 
first,  for  every  body  where  she  went  had  heerd  it  al- 
ready. News  flies  like  wildfire  in  Slabtown.  She 
dident  git  hold  o'  the  piece  though ;  nobody  hadent 
seen  it,  but  they  'd  all  heerd  about  it.  It 's  wonderful 
how  «!oon  't  was  in  every  body's  mouth.  When  Sam 
comes  hum  he  was  full  on  't — said  't  was  all  over  town 
— nothin'  else  was  talked  about  from  one  eend  o'  the 
village  to  t'other.  Eunice  was  very  anxious  to  read 
it ;  and  Sam  went  to  the  bookstore  to  git  it,  but  they'd 
sold  every  copy  they  had,  and  ther  was  a  great  call 
for  more.  Ther  was  a  wonderful  excitement  about  it. 
Sam  said  the  Californy  fever  was  nothing  tew  it. 
Californy  and  every  thing  else  seemed  to  be  entirely 
forgot  for  a  spell.  The  wimmin  laid  aside  all  other 
business,  and  gadded  round  from  house  to  house  talk- 
in  about  the  Sewin'  Society.  And  the  men,  tew, 
they  're  as  fond  o'  tatlin'  and  gossipin'  in  Slabtown  as 
the  wimmin.  They  met  together  in  shops  and  stores, 
and  bar  rooms  and  oyster-cellars,  and  talked  it  over. 
Wherever  you  'd  see  a  mess  o'  men  standin'  you  might 
know  they  was  discussin'  the-Sewin'  Society. 

In  Slabtown,  every  body  knows  jest  what  every 
body  else  says  and  does.  It  seemed  raly  wonderful  to 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN,  823 

tne  how  all  that  was  said  was  trumpeted  round.  Pri 
vale  conversations  was  blazed  all  over  town,  that  must 
a  ?>en  carried  bj  the  birds  o'  the  air,  or  else  ther  must 
a  ben  a  good  many  ears  occurpied  at  a  good  many 
key -holes.  I  was  wonderfully  struck  with  this  faculty 
m  the  Slabtown  folks.  They  're  a  community  remar- 
kable for  their  inguirin!  minds.  If 't  was  applied  to 
any  useful  purpose,  ther  's  no  calculatin'  how  much 
they  might  accomplish.  If  the  government  should 
ever  conclude  to  make  researches  into  the  manners 
and  customs  o'  the  antipodes  under  ground,  I  should 
advise  'em  to  send  to  Slabtown  for  an  explorin'  com- 
pany. I  '11  warrant  they  'd  find  out  all  how  and  about 
it  for  'em.  They  'd  report  all  that 's  a  dewin'  there, 
and  a  good  deal  more.  So  't  was  about  that  article 
that  was  laid  to  the  ministers  wife's  door.  Every  body 
know'd  what  every  body  else  said  and  thought  about 
it.  The  inquirin1  minds  was  all  at  work.  Every 
hour  in  the  day  ther  was  somebody  a  runnin'  into 
Bentley's  with  some  new  story — something  the  Haw- 
kinses or  the  Longs,  or  the  Teeeters,  or  the  squiie's 
folks  had  said  or  done. 

"  And  '  Miss  Samson  Savage,'  "  says  Miss  Teeters — 
"  did  you  ever  see  such  a  perfect  picter  as  that  is  o' 
the  squire's  wife  ? — how  exactly  it  goes  on  like  her. 
don't  it  ?  Any  body  that  ever  see  her  would  know  it 
m  a  minute." 

"  But,"  says  Teeters,  "  I  don't  see  how  the  minister's 


824      WIDOW  BETOTT  PAPERS. 

wife  found  out  how  she  talked.     Some  o'  your  mem 
hers  must  a  peached." 

Miss  Teeters  blushed,  and  says  she :  "  Oh,  dear  me, 
I  'm  dreadfully  afeard  she  '11  think  't  was  me.  If  she 
should,  she  'd  hate  ine  like  pisen,  and  never  invite  me 
to  any  more  o'  her  parties.  I  wouldent  git  her  ill-will 
for  all  the  world.  What  sliall  I  dew  ?  I  must  run 
right  over  there  'fore  any  body  else  see  her,  and  make 
it  all  straight." 

"  That 's  right,"  said  Teeters.  "  I  wouldent  be  struck 
out  o'  her  good  books  for  no  money.  We  '11  show 
her  that  we  don't  uphold  the  minister's  wife  in  such 
conduct.  But  I  must  dew  something  tew.  If  she 
was  only  a  man  I  could  give  her  a  cowhidin'  or  at 
least  threaten  to ;  but  bein'  she 's  a  woman  I  don't 
know  what  to  dew." 

"  I  '11  tell  ye,  Teeters,  what  ye  can  dew,"  said  his 
•rife.  "  You  can  circulate  a  petition  to  get  the  minis- 
ter dismissed." 

"  That 's  the  checker,"  said  Teeters,  with  a  terrible 
oath. 

So  Miss  Teeters  flung  on  her  things  and  started  off 
for  the  squire's.  And  Teeters  sot  down  to  draw  up 
his  petition.  When  she  got  to  the  squire's,  Miss  Tee- 
ters huv  herself  down  on  the  sofy  and  fainted  away 
and  the  squire's  wife  run  for  the  cologne  bottle. 
When  she  began  to  come  tew,  says  the  squire's  wife. 
Bays  she — 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  325 

"  For  the  land's  sate,  child,  what 's  the  matter  with 
ye?" 

Miss  Teeters  groanedj  and  says  she:  "Have  you 
seen  the  Lady's  Book  ?" 

"  What  lady's  book  ?"  says  the  squire's  wife,  saya 
she. 

"  Why  the  Lady's  Book  that 's  printed  in  Philadel 
phy  once  a  month." 

''  No,  I  hain't  seen  it,"  says  she.     "  What  on  't  ?" 

*'  Well,  I  'm  50  glad  you  hain't,"  says  Miss  Teeters ; 
"  and  I  do  hope  you  won't.  Don't  you  look  at  it  if  you 
do  see  it.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  look  at  it  for  all  the 
world.  Promise  me  you  won't  open  it  if  you  do  see 
it." 

"Well,  I  should  like  to  know,"  says  the  squire's 
wife,  "  what 's  the  reason  I  must  n't  look  at  that  par- 
tic'lar  book.  For  gracious  sake,  out  with  it !" 

"  Oh,"  says  Miss  Teeters,  "  ther  's  the  awfullest  piece 
in  it  that  ever  you  sot  eyes  on  ;  and  every  body  says 
the  minister's  wife  writ  it.  It 's  all  about  our  Sewin 
Society — takes  us  off  most  shamefully — but  you  es 
pecially — shows  you  up  abominably — calls  you  '  Miss 
Samson  Savage.'  It  ain't  a  bit  like  you,  to  be  sure ; 
but  it 's  perfectly  horrid.  Do  promise  me  not  to  read 
it ;  for  it  '11  hurt  your  fee'ins  dreadfully.  It  did  mine. 
To  think  that  a  person  I  set  so  much  by  as  I  do 
by  you,  should  be  so  abused !  Mr.  Teeters  is  perfect- 
ly outrageous  about  it ;  he  says  it  is  n't  to  be  borne 


326  WIDOW     BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

He  's  intendin'  to  start  a  petition  to  have  the  minister 
sent  off.  You  know  we  've  long  ben  tryin'  to  git  rid 
of  him,  and  this  '11  be  a  good  opportunity" — (Miss 
Teeters  had  always  pretended  to  the  minister  that  she 
was  one  of  his  best  friends  and  was  always  a  runnin' 
tew  him  with  every  thing  the  squire's  wife  and  Miss 
Hawkins  said  against  him  Of  course,  he  nor  his 
wife  hadent  no  confidence  in  her.  They  understood 
human  nater  well  enough  to  know  she  'd  talk  against 
them  behind  their  backs.) 

'T  was  nat'ral  enough,  after  all  this  parade,  that  the 
squire's  wife  should  be  in  a  terrible  pucker  to  see  the 
Lady's  Book.  So,  after  makin'  a  wonderful  to  do 
about  it,  and  pretendin'  she  was  awful  unwillin',  Miss 
Teeters  fetcht  her  the  book.  At  first,  the  squire's 
wife  declared  that  Miss  Savage  wa'n't  meant  fcr  her, 
but  all  her  particular  friends  insisted  Upon  it  that  'twas. 
So  at  last  she  had  to  give  up,  and,  of  course,  she  was 
awful  mad  about  it,  and  stormed  away  at  a  terrible 
rate. 

Miss  Hawkins,  she  kept  the  ball  a  rollin' ;  devoted 
her  hull  time  to  runnin'  round  the  neighborhood  and 
blazin'  away  about  it.  She  was  what  folks  call ' '  toady" 
to  the  squire's  wife,  and  every  body  said  that  the 
"  Miss  Stillman  in  the  piece,  that  was  makin'  such  a 
muss,  meant  her,  and  she  tho't  so  tew.  But  she  tho't 
that  if  she  could  make  folks  believe  't  was  intended 
for  Miss  Long,  she  could  accomplish  tew  ends :  she  'd 


VISIT     TO    SL  ABT  )WN..  327 

I  t  rid  o'  bavin*  the  Barnes  o  Miss  Stillman  and  Polly 
Mariar'  tucked  onto  her  and  her  daughte^  and,  what  was 
purty  important,  turn  the  Longs  against  the  minister 
an!  his  wife.  Now  the  Longs  was  very  stiddy,  go-to 
meetin'  sort  o'  folks,  and  had  always  been  my  friend- 
iy  to  the  minister's  family.  So  Miss  Hawkins  went 
puffin'  and  blowin,  round  town,  makin'  a  terrible  fuss 
about  the  "  piece,"  and  dwellin'  partic'larly  on  the  awful 
shame  it  was  to  take  off  the  Longs  so.  One  day  she  went 
into  the  squire's,  and  the  squire's  wife  says  to  herk 
says  she :  "  Well,  how  do  you  feel  about  bein'  hit  off 
by  Aunt  Magwire  ?  You  ketch  it  about  as  bad  as  I 
dew." 

"  0  shaw,"  says  Miss  Hawkins,  "  I  ain't  hit  off  at  all. 
What  makes  you  think  I  be  ?" 

"  Now,  Hawky,"says  the  squire's  wife,  "  it 's  all  non- 
sense for  you  to  try  to  make  me  think  that  ain't  meant 
for  you  and  Sary  Ann."  "  I  know  't  is." 

"Well,"  says  Miss  Hawkins,  says  she,  "between 
yon  and  me,  the  fact  is,  whether  't  was  meant  for  me 
or  not,  one  thing 's  clear,  if  we  could  make  the  Longs 
believe  't  was  intended  for  them,  we  should  be  pretty 
sure  o'  gittin'  rid  o'  the  minister.  For,  of  course,  Miss 
Long  and  Helen  would  feel  dretfully  hurt  about 
bein'  took  off  so  by  the  minister's  wife,  and  Mr.  Long 
he  'd  think  jest  as  they  did.  And  if  we  can  once  git 
the  Longs  set  against  the  minister's  folks,  they  '11  have, 
to  qnit  in  short  order." 


328       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEKS. 

"Well,  that  is  an  idee,"  says  the  squire's  wife 
"  Hawky,  you  's  more  cunnin'  than  I  be.  If  '  Daddy- 
long-legs'  " — (that 's  what  she  calls  Mr.  Long  behind 
his  back) — "  once  gits  his  dander  up  it  '11  be  all  day 
with  the  parson;  for  some  how  or  other,  he  's  contriv- 
ed to  git  considerable  influence  in  the  parish.  It  must 
be  because  he  's  such  a  stiddy  old  poke,  for  he  hain't 
no  more  mind  of  his  own  than  that  pair  o'  tongs.  I 
can  turn  him  round  with  my  little  finger.  I  guess  I  '11 
go  down  and  give  'em  a  stirrin'  up."  So  up  she  start 
ed  and  off  she  traipsed  to  Mr.  Long's.  She  marched 
into  the  parlor,  where  Miss  Long  and  jJ.elen  was  a  sit- 
ting and  makin'  a  low  curchy,  she  says,  says  uLe : 
"  Miss  Samson  Savage,  at  your  sarvice  ;  and  how  does 
Miss  Si  illman  and  Polly  Mariar  dew  to  day  ?" 

Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  the  Longs  was 
made  to  believe  that  the  minister's  wife  had  actilly 
ben  showin'  'em  up.  Of  course  they  was  outrageous 
about  it ;  and  Miss  Long  talked  harder  aginst  the  min- 
ister's wife  than  she  'd  ever  talked  aginst  any  body 
p.fore.  She  dident  go  tew  her,  like  a  Christian  ought 
to.  and  ax  an  explanation,  but  she  contented  herself 
with  callin'  her  an  abominable  woman  and  a  shameful 
critter,  and  said  she  wa'n't  fit  to  be  a  minister's  wife, 
and  so  forth.  And  Mr.  Long  he  jined  in  with  the  op- 
position, and  wanted  the  minister  to  quit. 

And  Teeters,  he  got  up  his  petition,  and  went  blus- 
terin'  round  with  it,  threatenin'  to  cowhide  every  body 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  329 

.hat  didtnt  sign  it.  He  hadent  got  but  a  few  names 
to  it,  when  he  went  into  Sharp's  store  and  axed  Sharp 
to  sign  it.  Sharp's  a  straight-forrard  feller,  that  minds 
his  own  business.  He  took  the  petition  and  lookt  at 
it,  and  then  deliberately  opened  the  stove  door  and 
throw'd  it  in  ;  and  turnin'  to  Teeters,  says  he :  "  Tee- 
ters, you  're  a  fool ;  go  hum  and  take  care  o'  yer  wife, 
and  lei  alone  meddlin'  with  what 's  none  o'  yer  busi- 
ness." 

I  s'pose  you  think  Teeters  cowhided  him  on  the 
spot :  but  you  're  mistaken.  He  went  hum  and  took 
it  out  in  rippin'  and  swearin',  and  threatenm'  to  take 
the  law  o5  Sharp. 


XXYTI. 


T  AW  me,  Nancy,  why  't  would  take  a  week  to  tell 
all  the  sayin's  and  dewin's  that  took  place  in 
Slabtown  in  consequence  o'  that  article  in  the  lady's 
Book.  I  never  see  nor  heerd  o'  nothin'  equal  to  't, 
Such  a  tempest  in  a  tea-pot!  such  an  awful  uproar 
about  nothin'  !  'T  was  wonderful  —  't  was  amusin'  tew 
And  what  was  the  poor  minister's  wife  about  all  this 
time?  Why  she  was  to  hum,  a  mindin'  her  own 
business  as  usual.  Miss  Teeters  was  heerd  to  say  to 
several  individdiwals,  that  she  guessed  that  old  stripid 
dress  and  straw  bunnit  wouldent  darst  to  show  them- 
selves in  church  no  more,  when  there  was  such  an 
excitement.  But  Sunday  came  and  there  was  the 
minister's  wife  in  her  seat,  lookin''jest  as  if  nothin' 
had  happened  more  'n  or'nary.  The  members  o'  the 
Sewin'  Society  thought  't  was  very  audacious  in 
her. 

'T  was  cur'us  to  see  how  all  the  persons  that  was 
the  most  active  in  aiakin'  a  noise  and  keepin  up  the 
excitement  had  every  one  on  'em  some  eend  o'  their 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  331 

own  that  they  hoped  to  forrard  by  makin'  a,  hue  and 
cry.  There  was  the  Slaters,  they  were  dretful  mad  at 
the  squire's  wife,  because  she  hadent  invited  'em  to 
KOI  last  party.  And  Mr.  Sweezer  had  told  'em  that 
the  squire's  wife  remarked  at  her  party,  that  she 
dident  invite  the  Slaters  because  she  meant  to  be  more 
select  in  her  parties  in  futur'.  Sweezer's  very  intimit 
with  the  squire's  folks — a  kind  o'  boot-licker  tew  'em 
-—though  he  's  always  slanderin'  'em  to  their  backs. 
He  'fi  a  reg'lar  man-gossip  Well,  the  Slaters  was 
wonderful  tickled  to  see  the  squire's  wife  git  such  a 
dressin  cut,  as  they  called  it ;  so  they  went  round  ex- 
ultin'  o^er  it, 

Then  ther  was  a  number  that  was  wonderful  anxious 
to  git  themselves  into  notice,  no  matter  how.  And 
they  blazed  away  about  the  impropriety  d1  writirf  such 
articles.  They  disproved  on  'em  entirely.  But  them 
that  was  tryin'  to  git  into  the  squire's  wife's  good 
graces,  was  the  most  obstropelous  -  about  it.  They 
called  it  abominable — awful !  they  hoped  the  squire 
would  take  the  law  o'  the  minister's  wife,  and  so  forth. 
And  some  that  was  rejoiced  to  git  hold  o'  any  thing 
that  could  be  turned  against  the  minister,  went  sneak- 
in'  round  takin'  it  up  in  a  sly  way ;  they  was  very 
sorry  it  had  happened,  very ;  but  it  was  all  up  with 
the  minister  now  ;  he  might  as  well  pack  up  his  traps 
and  budge  at  once ;  for  he  couldent  be  supported  in 
Slabtown  no  longer,  public  sentiment  was  so  against 


dd2      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEES. 

him.  Then,  tew,  ther  was  a  careful  set,  suck  as  there 
is  every  where,  that  wanted  to  be  "  right  side  up ;" 
and  not  bein'  able  to  determine  for  sartin  which  would 
turn  out  to  be  the  popilar  party,  ail  they  done,  when 
the  "Sewin'  Society"  was  mentioned,  was  to  shake 
their  heads  and  look  knowin'.  But  the  tew-sided 
party  was  the  most  numerous.  They  circulated  round 
from  the  minister's  friends  to  his  enemies,  and  pretend- 
ed to  belong  to  jest  the  side  they  happened  to  be  with. 
To  the  minister's  friends  they  said,  "  that  was  a  first- 
rate  article  in  the  Lady's  Book ;  't  was  capital — 't  was 
true  to  nater — it  took  off  them  that  deserved  it  richly ; 
and  they  hoped  that  the  author  'd  write  more,  and  give 
'em  another  dig."  When  they  got  among  the  op- 
posite party,  they  said  "  't  was  a  slanderous  thing — 
'twas  shameful — 'twa'n't  to  be  put  up  with;"  and 
then  they  carried  back  and  forth  all  they  heerd  on 
both  sides,  and  made  a  sight  o'  mischief.  Mr.  Sweezer 
was  one  o'  this  kind.  He  had  about  as  much  as  he 
could  attend  to  for  a'  spell,  runnin'  from  one  side 
t'  other  carryin'  the  news. 

But  the  most  active  o'  the  two-siders  was  Bethiar 
Nobles,  an  old  gal  that  gits  her  livin'  principally  by 
visitin'.  She 's  acquainted  with  every  thing  that  goes 
on  in  the  village ;  knows  every  body's  business,  jest 
what  young  folks  are  ingaged,  and  who  's  broke  off 
their  ingagements;  who's  ben  disappointed,  and 
who's  .distracted  after  who.  She  knows  jest  what 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  833 

couples  lives  like  cats  and  dogs  together,  -what 
cues  is  livin'  beyond  their  means,  and  who 's  ovei 
head  and  ears  in  debt,  and  how  every  lady  in  town 
carries  on  her  kitchenary  consarns,  how  scrimpin'  they 
live,  and  all  that.  She  always  has  some  great  excitin' 
piece  o'  scandal  on  her  hands  that  sarves  for  visitin' 
capital;  and  when  one  wears  out  she  trumps  up 
another.  She  's  an  awful  disagreeable  old  critter,  but 
ptiiJ  ther  's  plenty  o'  folks  that 's  willin'  to  in  courage 
her,  for  the  sake  o'  hearin'  her  talk.  Well,  when  the 
Sewin'  Society  muss  come  up,  she  was  on  her  high 
heels.  It  gin  her  plenty  o'  business  for  a  spell.  She 
visited  on  the  strength  on  't  for  a  month  at  least.  As 
sure  as  the  day  come  round,  off  started  Bethiar  Nobles 
on  her  scandal-peddlin'  expedition.  Wherever  she 
went,  the  first  question  she  axed  was :  "  Have  you 
seen  that  article  in  the  Lady's  Book?"  and  the  next: 
"What  do  you  think  on't?"  and  what  ever  they 
thought  she  thought  tew,  and  jawed  away  accordin'ly, 
and  spent  the  day  a  tellin'  what  she  heerd  on  both 
sides. 

One  day  she  went  to  the  minister's  and  spent  the 
afternoon.  After  she  'd  hauled  out  her  knittin'  work, 
and  spread  her  white  handkerchief  across  her  lap  for 
show  (she 's  an  awful  snuff-taker,  and  carries  an  old 
red  gili  one  in  her  pocket  for  use) — after  she  'd  hauled 
oul  her  knittin'  work,  says  she  "Have  you  seen  that 
piece  that 's  come  out  in  the  Lady's  Book?" 


334       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  I  Ve  seen  a  number  of  pieces  in  the  Ladj'a 
Book,"  says  the  minister's  wife,  "  which  one  do  you 
refer  to?"  , 

"  Why,  that  one  about  the  Sewin'  Society  that 
appeared  in  the  Jinuwary  number,"  says  Bethiar,  says 
she. 

"  I  haven t  read  that  number  at  all,"  says  the 
minister's  wife.  "  Mine  was  borrowed  before  I  'd  had 
time  to  open  it." 

"Well,  Pve  seen  it,"  says  Bethiar;  "and  I  think 
it 's  complete.  I  hope  the  person  that  writ  that  '11  keed 
on  writin',  and  give  it  to  'em  again.  I  never  see 
nothin'  to  beat  that  description  of  the  squire's  wife — 
it 's  her  to  a  T.  They  say  she  feels  it  tew.  I  'm  glad 
she  does ;  and  I  hope  it  '11  make  her  draw  in  her  hoins 
and  remember  her  origin,  and  behave  a  little  more 
decent.  And  Miss  Teeters,  I  was  glad  to  see  her 
ketch  it — ridicilous  critter,  neglectin'  her  children 
and  flirtin'  round  with  the  young  men  all  the  time. 
And  the  Longs ;  that 's  the  best  o'  the  hull ;  I  tell  ye, 
it  done  me  good  to  see  them  cut  up.  I  hope  it  '11  larn 
'em  to  think  for  themselves,  and  not  pin  their  faith  to 
big  folkses  coat-tails.  They  never  have  no  opinion  o' 
their  own.  I  dew  despise  them  Longs."  The  minister's 
wife  interrupted  her,  and  says  she — 

"  Dident  you  spend  the  day  at  Mr.  Long's  yester- 
day?" 

"  Yes,"  says  Berthiar,  says  she. 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  335 

"  Seems  to  me  it 's  strange  you  should  visit  people 
you  despise  so,"  says  the  minister's  wife. 

Bethiar  was  rather  nonplushed  for  a  minute,  aiid 
dident  seem  to  know  what  to  say.  She  hauled  out 
her  snuff-box  and  took  a  monstrous  pinch,  and  draw'd 
round  her  nose  one  side  and  snuffed  it  up,  and  then 
draw'd  it  round  t'  other  side  and  snuffed  it  up  agin ; 
and  when  she  'd  fixed  out  what  to  say,  she  begun :-  - 

;<  Yes,  I  did  spend  the  day  there,  and  it 's  the  last 
day  I  '11  spend  there  for  one  while,  I  guess ;  for  they 
had  so  much  to  say  aginst  you  and  yer  husband  that  I 
was  perfectly  disgusted.  They  're  awful  mad  about  that 
piece,  and  say  you  writ  it.  I  told  'em,  whether  you 
did  or  not,  /  thought 't  was  a  first-rate  thing."  So 
she  run  on,  tellin'  ever  so  much  stuff  that  the  Longs 
had  said  against  the  minister  and  his  wife,  and  all 
how  she  tried  to  stop  'em,  and  felt  so  distresst  to  hear 
'em.  The  minister's  wife  kept  on  sewinT,  and  dident 
make  no  further  remark.  Bethiar  stayed  all  the  after- 
noon and  evening  and  talked  and  snuffed,  and  bored 
'em  through  and  through ;  and  then  went  off  declarin' 
she  'd  had  a  delightful  visit. 

The  next  day  she  went  to  the  squire's  —Miss  Teeters 
and  Miss  Hawkins  was  there.  They  was  all  glad  to 
see  Bethiar  come  in,  for  they  know'd  she  'I  bring  the 
news.  She  told  'em  she  'd  ben  to  the  minister's  ;  and 
they  was  wonderful  cur'us  to  know  how  the  minister's 
felt  and  all  she  said  and  done.  "  Was  she  a 


336       WIDOW  BEDCTT  PAPERS. 

vmtin'?"  says  Miss  Teeters.  "No,"  says  Bethiar, 
"  not  when  I  went  in ;  she  'd  jest  tucked  it  away  when 
she  heerd  the  bell  ring.  I  know'd  by  the  looks  o' 
things  that  she  'd  ben  a  writin'.  She  don't  keep  no 
help  now ;  and  I  stayed  to  tea  a  purpose  to  see  what 
sort  o'  work  she  made  gittin'  vittals.  "When  she  went 
out  to  git  tea  I  offered  to  go  and  help  her;  for  I  did 
want  to  take  a  peep  into  the  butt'ry  and  see  what  con- 
dition 't  was  in — they  say  these  writin'  wimmin  is 
such  sluttish  critters  about  their  houses.  But  she  was 
t#w  cunnin'  to  let  me  see  behind  the  curtin'.  She  said 
ghe  diclent  need  no  assistance." 

"Why  dident  you  insist  upon 't  and  go  ahead, 
whether  or  no  ?"  says  the  squire's  wife.  "  That 's  the 
•way  I  'd  a  done." 

"Oh,"  says  Bethiar,  "she's  so  kind  o'  stiff,  I 
darsent ;  but  I  took  a  good  look  round  when  I  went 
into  the  bed-room  to  take  off  my  things.  I  wish  to 
gracious  you  could  see  the  quilt  that  'a  on  her  bed  1 
It 's  the  greatest  curiosity  in  the  quiltin'  line  that  ever 
I  sot  eyes  on — old  fashioned  herrin'  bone,  the  Irjies 
as  much  as  tew  inches  apart — without  stretchin',  full 
tew  inches  apart !" 

It 's  cur'us,  by  the  way,  what  a  wonderful  time  the 
Slabtown  wimmin  make  about  their  quilts.  Ther 
seems  to  be  a  continniwal  strife  there  as  to  who  shall 
git  the  most  stitchin'  on  a  quilt.  They  crowd  and 
rtnff  'em  as  full  o'  work  as  they  possibly  can.  Folks 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  337 

that 's  able  to  buy  han'some  bed-kivers,  never  think 
o'  such  a  thing.  But  they  '11  spend  ever  so  many 
weeks  a  diggin'  away  at  a  home-made  bed-quilt,  and 
git  the  neighbors  together  time  and  agin,  and  stitch, 
stitch,  stitch,  stitch,  as  if  their  lives  depended  on 't, 
and  not  feel  satisfied  till  every  spot  as  big  as  a  six- 
pence is  kivered  with  stitches.  Eunice  had  a  quiltin' 
while  I  was  there.  My  eyes  wa'n't  good  enough  to 
work  on  the  quilt,  and  Eunice  dident  seem  to  be  very 
sorry  ;  for  she  wa'n't  very  anxious  to  have  me  make 
my  appearance  among  her  genteel  friends.  So  I 
staid  up  in  my  own  room.  Ther  was  a  stove-pipe 
hole  in  the  floor  from  the  parlor  where  they  was 
quiltin',  and  I  could  hear  'em  talk.  Grammany,  what 
a  buzzin'  they  kept  up!  I  tell  ye,  every  body  that 
wa'n't  there  had  to  take  it,  and  no  mistake.  It  would 
have  to  be  a  pretty  skillful  arithmeticker  that  could 
calculate  how  many  characters  can  be  pulled  to  pieces 
while  one  quilt 's  a  puttin'  together.  But  I  was  tellin' 
about  Bethiar  Noble's  account  o'  her  visit  to  the 
parson's.  She  went  on  to  tell,  and  says  she — 

"  And  of  all  the  teas  that  ever  I  sot  down  tew,  if 
that  wa'n't  the  beat!"  (she  praised  up  every  thing  sky 
high  while  she  was  eatin'  on  't).  "  Baker's  bread  as 
dry  as  a  stick.  I  s'pose  she  's  tew  lazy  to  make  her 
own  bread,  or  else  she  has  so  much  writin'  to  dew  she 
can't  spend  time;  and  the  cake — dear  knows  how 
16 


338       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

long  it  had  ben  baked — and  plum-sass  as  sour  as 
vengeance." 

"  But  what  did  she  say  ?"  says  the  squire's  wife. 
11  That 's  the  main  pint.  What  did  she  have  to  say 
about  the  piece  f" 

"  She  kept  pretty  mum  about  that,  I  tell  ye,"  says 
Bethiar ;  "  for,  you  see,  I  pretended  I  dident  know 
fihe  writ  it,  so  I  went  on  and  told  my  opinion  pretty 
freely.  I  said  that  I  guessed  if  the  writer  on  't  thought 
they  was  a  gwine  to  injure  people  of  such  standin'  as 
the  squire's  wife  and  Miss  Teeters,  they  'd  find  them- 
selves mistaken.  She  look't  awful  mad,  but  never 
opened  her  head.  Then  I  spoke  o'  the  Longs,  what 
fine  people  they  was,  and  said  I  spent  the  day  before 
with  'em.  When  I  said  that,  she  spoke  up, .  and 
say  she :  '  Well,  /  wouldent  visit  such  despisable 
people.'  " 

"She  talked  against  the  Longs,  hey ?"  says  the 
squire's  wife.  "  Well,  they  ought  to  know  it." 

"  They  shall  know  it,"  says  Miss  Teeters. 

"  I  thought  I  should  tell  'em  on  't,"  says  Bethiar 

"  Well,  they  must  know  it  to-day,  for  to-morrow  's 
Sunday,"  says  Miss  Hawkins.  "  I  s'pose  you  calculate 
to  spend  the  afternoon  here,  so  I  guess  I  '11  jest  run 
down  myself  and  give  'em  a  hint  on  't." 

Well,  I  kept  a  hearin'  more  and  more  every  day, 
Mid  what  to  make  on 't,  I  dident  know.  'T  was  ali 
'Miss  Samson  Savage,  and  Miss  ScillmaL.  and  Miss 


VISIT    TO     SLABTOWN.  880 

Fustick  and  Miss  Birsley,'-  Thliiks  me,  how  on  arth 
has  all  this  about  our  Sewin'  Society  got  out  ?  and 
what  makes  the  Slabtown  folks  think  it  means  them  ? 
I  was  wonderful  puzzled,  but  thought  't^a'n't  best  to 
say  any  thing  about  it.  At  last,  one  day,  Sam  got 
hold  of  a  Lady'?  Book,  and  fetchtit  hum ;  and  Eunice 
took  it  and  sot  down  to  read  the  wonderful  piece  out 
loud.  She  turned  along  till  she  come  to  'I,  and  saya 
she:  "Here  'tis — 'Aunt  Mag  wire's  Account  of  the 
Sewin'  Society  at  Scrabble  Hill.'"  I  tell  you,  ] 
jumped  as  if  I  was  shot:  "  Grammany,"  says  I,  "  that 
means  me!"  Then  it  begun  to  crawl  through  my 
haii  that  the  name  o'  the  book  was  "  Godey's  Lady's 
Book,"  and  says  I:  "  Tit  bet  a  dollar  it's  the  same 
Mr.  Godey  that  1  know,  and  he  ?s  went  and  printed 
off  that  story  that  I  t&ld  him  about  our  Sewin'  So- 
ciety." After  I  got  calmed  down  a  little,  Eunice  went 
on  and  read  it ;  and,  sure  enough,  there  't  was,  word 
for  word,  jest  as  I  told  it  to  Mr.  Godey.  I  told  'em 
so. 

"Now,  Sam,"  say?  I,  "you  go  right  off  down  street, 
and  tell  every  body  that  that  are 's  a  ginniwine  de- 
scription of  our  Scrabble  Hill  Sewin'  Society,  and 
nothin'  else." 

"  I  shan't  dew  it,"  says  Sam.  "  They  wouldent  be- 
lieve a  word  on 't  if  I  should ;  and,  besides,  I  like  to 
see  the  fun  go  on." 

"  I  say  so  tew,"  says  Eunice.     "  If  they  're  a  mind 


B40       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEPS. 

to  take  it  tew  themselves,  let  'em;  they  deserve  a 
usin'  up,  and  I  d  be  the  last  one  to  tell  'em  they  had- 
ent  got  it" 

Well;  what  to  dew,  I  dident  know;  I  was  a 
stranger  there,  and  couldent  go  round  tellin1  how 't  was 
myself.  But  it  did  hurt  my  feelins  amazin'ly,  to 
think  that  the  minister's  wife  was  a  sufferin'  for  u.,  and 
that  his  enemies  was  a  inakin'  a  handle  on 't  to  injure 
him  and  drive  him  away.  I  pondered  on  't,  and  pon- 
dered on 't ;  and,  at  last,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  the 
least  I  could  dew  would  be  go  to  the  minister's  and 
explain  it  tew  'em.  So  I  told  Sam  and  Eunice  what 
T  meant  to  dew.  But  they  tried  to  persuade  me  not 
to.  Eunice  said  'twas  all  nonsense;  she  wa'n't  ac- 
quainted with  the  minister's  wife,  but  she  locked  like 
a  very  stiff,  haughty  woman,  and  she  'd  treat  me  cool, 
and  I  'd  have  my  labor  for  my  pains.  But  I  deter- 
mined to  set  my  own  conscience  at  rest,  so  I  put  on 
my  things  and  started  off.  Eunice  tried  with  all  her 
might  to  stop  me,  but  my  mind  ^as  made  up.  Sam 
wouldent  go  with  me,  nor  tell  me  where  they  livc-d, 
so  I  had  to  inquire  the  way  as  I  went.  'Twas  a 
moonlight  night,  and  I  dident  have  no  trouble  in 
findin'  the  house ;  but  't  was  onpleasant  to  be  out 
alone  in  a  strange  place.  When  I  got  to  the  door- 
steps my  courage  failed,  and  I  was  afeard  to  ring  the 
bell ;  I  dident  know  but  what  ther  was  company  in, 
and  dident  want  to  go  in  if  ther  was.  I  noticed  a 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN  341 

Little  orflrjr  one  side  o'  the  \\inder  shades,  so  1  stepped 
up  softly  and  peeped  m.  Ther  wa'n't  nobody  there 
but  the  minister's  wife;  she  sot  by  the  table  a  darnin' 
stocking,  and  ther  was  a  big  basketful  o'  duds  beside 
her,  that  she  was  a  gwine  to  mend.  She  looked  like 
a  good  natered  woman.  I  stood  and  watched  her 
for  some  time.  As  I  was  a  lookin'  at  her,  I  noticed  a 
smile  come  over  her  face.  Thirks  me,  I  '11  bet  a  dol- 
lar she 's  a  thinkin'  about  the  "  Sewin'  Society."  A 
minute  after,  the  smile  went  off,  and  she  looked 
troubled  and  oneasy;  thinks  me,  she  's  a  wonderin' 
what  '11  turn  up  next.  It  made  me  think  of  poor  Miss 
Scrantum,  and  her  troubles.  After  a  spell  I  plucked 
up  courage  and  pulled  the  bell.  She  come  to  the 
door  and  axed  me  in ;  but  after  I  'd  got  seated,  I  did- 
ent  know  how  to  begin  nor  what  to  say.  The  minis- 
ter's wife  see  that  I  felt  aukard,  so  she  made  some  re- 
mark about  the  weather,  and  so  on ;  then  she  axed 
me  to  take  off  my  things ;  I  thanked  her,  and  said  I 
couldent  stay  long.  At  last  I  harn'd  and  haw'd,  and 
stammered  out :  "I  hope  you  '11  pardon  a  stranger  for 
intrudin'  en  you?"  "No  intrusion  at  all,"  says  she; 
"  every  body  's  welcome  to  the  minister's  house."  So 
then,  I  felt  relieved,  and  says  I :  "I come  from  Scrab- 
ble Hill  to  visit  a  relation  o'  mine  that  lives  here ;  and 
I  've  happened  to  come  just  in  the  midst  o'  the  muss 
fchev  've  kicked  up  about  that  piece  they  're  a  laym* 
to  vou.  I  know  alj  thj  foils  that  it  tells  about." 


342  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

"  You  do  ?';  says  she.  "  And  do  you  know  Aunt 
Magwire  ?"  • 

I  riz  rp,  and  makin'  as  good-  a'  curchy  as  I  kncVd 
how,  says  I:  "I  ^  that  individdiwal,  at  yer  service." 

*'  Indeed,"  says  sin,  comin'  up  to  me  and  shakin' 
hands  with  me;  •'•^ell,  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you 
though  you  have  got  me  into  a  muss." 

"  O  dear  me,"  says  I,  "  I  hope  you  don't  think  f 
know'd  that  story  was  a  gwine  to  travel  to  Slabtown, 
when  I  told  it  to  Mr.  Godey?" 

"  Law,  no,"  says  she ;  '•'  don't  give  yourself  the  least 
trouble  about  it ;  ycu  ain't  a  bit  to  blame." 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  jou  feel  so,"  says  I ;  Vbut  ain't  it 
curus  that  the  Slabtovn  folks  should  take  it  all  to 
themselves  as  they  de^v  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  she ;  :!  human  natur  's  the  same 
twery  where." 

"  I  guess  so,"  says  I.  "  Any  how,  your  Sewin' 
Society  must  be  wonderfully  like  our  'n,  or  they 
wouldent  be  so  detarmined  it  means  them ;  but  what 
hurts  my  feelin's  is,  that  you  should  have  to  suffer 
for 't.  I  was  so  distrest  when  I  heerd  they  was  a  lay- 
in'  on't  to  you,  and  usin'  on  't  to  injure  yer  husband, 
that  I  felt  as  if  I  must  come  right  over  and  see .  you, 
though  you  was  a  stranger.  If  any  body 's  to  blame. 
I  'in  willin'  to  bear  it." 

"  0  fie,"  says  she,  "  don't  you  fret  yourself  a  bit 
»bout  it.  If  people  choose  to  fit  your  coats  to  their 


VISIT    TO    SLABTOWN.  343 

own  backs,  't  ain't  your  fault ;  and  if  they  fit  nice  and 
snug,  perhaps  they  '11  do  as  good  service  as  if  they 
were  made  expressly  for  'em." 

"  Jest  so,"  says  I.  "  But  it  does  seem  tew  bad  that 
you  should  suffer  for  't.  Ain't  ther  no  way  o'  puttin 
a  stop  tew  it?" 

"  Never  you  mind,"  says  she  ;  "  we  minister's  folks 
must  have  our  trials,  of  one  sort  or  another,  where- 
ever  we  go.  If  we  hadent  this  perhaps  we  should 
have  somethin'  still  worse." 

"  But,"  says  I,  "  what  if  they  should  drive  you  away 
from  here?" 

She  smiled,  and  dident  say  nothin'. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "to  judge  from  what  I've  seen  o' 
Slabtown  since  I  come  here,  I  'm  bold  to  say  tKat,  if 
they  do  drive  you  away,  they  can't  possibly  drive  you 
to  a  worse  place." 

"  Hush,  Aunt  Magwire,"  says  she,  "  human  natur  s 
the  same  every  where;  we  must  expect  trouble 
wherever  we  ga  I  feel  prepared  for  almost  any 
thing" 

'•  Yes,"  says  I,  "  I  s'pose  you  feel  a  good  deal  as 
that  fox  in  the  story  did,  when  them  miserable  insects 
was  a  bitm'  him.  'Let  'em  alone,'  says  he;  'for  if 
>'yj  drive  'em  away  ther  '11  come  a  hungrier  swarm.' " 

W«%11  that  was  the  amount  of  our  conversation. 
The  Aiinistei  &  wife  was  very  'polite  to  me,  md  I  in 
viied  her  to  call  on  me  if  ever  she  come  through 


344      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

Scrabble  Hill.     She  said  she  would,  and  hoped  we 
should  git  better  acquainted. 

I  come  away  a  few  days  after  that,  and  I  ruthei 
guess  it  '11  be  a  good  while  afore  I  go  a  visitin'  to 
Slab  town  agin'.  The  place  is  tew  awful  ginted  to  suit 
my  taste. 


XXVIII. 

firs,  ikpm's  $t,t0iwt  0f 


TZTE  'S  a  mortal  teaze,  husband  is.  He  does  like  a 
joke  about  as  well  as  any  man  I  ever  see.  But 
he  's  always  good-natured,  hain't  no  malice  at  heart  in 
his  capers.  He  was  a  leetk  wicked  though  about  that 
are  cider  hoax  he  played  off  on  Deacon  Whipple  and 
Deacon  Bedott.  See  —  did  you  ever  hear  about  that? 
Well,  I  '11  tell  you,  for  I  think  't  was  one  o'  the  cutest 
tricks  he  ever  come.  But  in  the  first  place  you  must 
know  what  sort  o'  a  man  Deacon  Whipple  was,  or 
else  you  won't  sense  the  joke.  Well,  accordin'  to  iny 
rotion,  he  was  about  as  contemptible  a  specimen  of  a 
man  as  ever  walked  shoe-leather.  I  always  thought 
so,  and  so  did  husband,  though  ther  was  a  good  many 
folks  in  Wiggletown  looked  upon  him  as  clear  perfec- 
tion, 'cause  he  had  so  much  sanctimony.  He  como 
from  Meddleville  to  our  town,  and  he  was  so  wonder- 
ful pious,  and  made  such  an  awful  parade  of  his  relig- 
ion, prajdn'  and  exortin'  and  laborin'  for  souls,  as  ho 
called  it,  that  when  he  'd  ben  there  about  three  months, 
they  made  him  deacon.  As  soon  as  he  was  promoted, 
16* 


346  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS, 

h°.  begun  meddlin'  in  every  body's  bizness  the  worst 
w  ay,  watchin'  all  the  naborhood,  and  takin'  on  'em  to 
dew  for  every  little  thing  that  dident  happen  to  come 
come  up  to  his  idees  o'  duty.  This  he  called  "  consarn 
for  the  welfare  o'  Zion."  As  sure  as  ther  was  a 
party  o'  young  folks,  there  was  Deacon  "Whipple's  long 
nose  poked  into  some  o'  the  winders  to  pry  out  what 
was  done.  And  if  ther  was  any  church  members 
among  'em,  and  they  happened  to  play  "  Button — but- 
ton !  whose  got  the  button  ?"  or  danse  round  a  little, 
he  'd  have  'em  hauled  up  before  the  session  to  anser 
for 't.  It  seemed  to  dew  him  a  deal  o'  good  to  ketch 
any  o'  the  brethren  or  sisters  a  trippin'.  A  body  'd  a 
thought  he  spent  the  heft  of  his  time  a  pryin'  into 
•)ther  folks'  bizness,  but  some  how  or  other  he  man- 
aged to  take  care  of  his  own  tew ;  he  was  a  tailor  by 
frade,  and  a  reg'lar  old  cabbagin'  skinflint  to  boot. 
That  reminds  me  o'  what  Jo  Snyder  said  to  him  once, 
f  ou  see  he  was  an  awful  stingy  critter,  and  so  was 
Miss  Whipple.  The  'printicss  used  to  complain  dret- 
.fully  o'  ther  livin' — said  they  was  nigh  about  starved. 
Well,  Jo  Snyder  he  stuck  his  head  into  the  shop  win- 
der one  day  and  says  he  (Jo  was  an  independent  crit- 
ter), says  he,  "  Deacon,  how  comes  it  yov.  starve  yei 
'printices  so,  when  you  're  always  so  flush  o'  cabbage  ?" 
The  deacon  was  awful  mad.  Says  he  to  Jo,  •'  If  you 
was  a,  professor  you  'd  ketch  it."  He  was  a  monstrous 
\nean-fooHr*'  man  tew  You  'd  a  know'd  to  see  him  in 


D3AC3N     iVHIPPLE.  347 

the  street  that  he  was  a  contracted  critter — had  a  stin- 
gy kind  of  a  walk — went  along  as  if  he  begrudged 
the  roorr  he  took  up.  The  circumstance  I  was  a 
gwine  to  tell  took  place  when  he  'd  ben  deacon  only 
a  little  risin'  tew  year — and  it 's  a  sollem  fact,  ther  'd 
ben  more  cases  o'  deseplyne  in  that  short  time  than 
'.her  ever  was  afore  sense  the  place  was  settled.  Now 
Deacon  Bedott  wa'n?t  such  a  man  at  all.  He  was 
great  on  prayin'  and  exortin',  but  he  dident  meddle  in 
his  Labors'  consarns,  nor  think  himself  so  much,  picus- 
er  and  better  'n  all  the  rest  o'  creation.  Well,  the  next 
fall  arter  we  come  away  from  Wiggletown,  husband 
and  me  went  out  there  a  visitin'.  You  see  Mother 
Poole  and  Mother  Magwire  both  lived  there,  and  Sis- 
icr  Bedott  tewy  and  I  spent  the  time  visitin'  round 
from  one  to  t'  other.  Well,  one  evenin'  I  was  to  Sis- 
ter Bedott's — husband  had  gone  over  to  Mother  Ma- 
gwire's.  'T  was  about  a  year  afore  Deacon  Bedott 
died,  and  he  wa'n't  very  well — you  know  he  was  fee- 
ble a  number  o'  years  afore  his  death.  Well,  he  and 
Sister  Silly  and  me  was  a  settin'  round  the  settin'-room 
fire,  and  Artemishy  Pike— the  Widder  Pike's  oldest 
darter — she  was  a  specdin'  the  evenin'  there.  Arte- 
mishy -was  jest  a  tellin'  us  about  Deacon  Whipple's 
eomin'  to  thair  house  the  day  afore  to  take  Cinthy 
(her  youngest  sister)  to  dew.  'cause  he  'd  heerd  how  't 
she  'tended  a  ball  when  she  was  over  to'Yarmount  a 
visitin' ;  and  Artemishy  was  in  an  awful  fidgit  about 


348  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAi'ERS, 

it,  for  fear  he  'd  have  her  hauled  up  for  7t,  and  she 
wanted  Deacon  Bedott  to  try  to  prevent  it.  Well,  she 
was  just  a  tellin'  about  it  when  ther  come  a  knock  to 
the  door.  "  Walk  in,"  says  Sister  Bedott — and  who 
should  walk  in  but  Deacon  Whipple,  with  Deacon 
Kenipe  and  Deacon  Crosby  on  behind  him !  "  There/1 
Bays  I  co  Artemishy,  "  the  Old  One  '3  always  at  hanf* 
when  you  're  talkin'  about  him."  "  Hush  I"  says  she 
" Lawful  sakes !"  says  I ;  "I  ain't  afeard  o' bein'  haul- 
ed up — I  don't  live  here."  When  they  come  in,  Ar- 
temishy looked  half-skairt  to  death.  She  thought 
they  'd  come  to  talk  about  dealin'  with  Ciothy,  but  Sis- 
ter Bedott  whispered  tew  her,  and  says  she,  "  Don't 
be  afeard ;  I  don't  bleve  it 's  Cinthy.  I  guess  more 
likely  it 's  Sue  Collins."  ('T  was  the  same  time  they 
had  her  over  the  coals.)  Whatever  't  was,  we  all 
know'd  't  was  purty  important  bizness,  for  Deacon 
Whipple  lookt  wonderful  big  and  awful  sollem  :  his 
face  was  about  half  a  yard  long.  But  though  he  tried 
to  appear  as  if  he  felt  dretful  bad,  't  was  plain  to  be 
seen  he  was  enjoyin'  a  state  of  intarnal  satisfaction — 
lookt  jest  as  he  always  did  when  he  got  hold  of  a  case 
that  suited  him  to  a  T.  But  Deacon  Kenipe  and  Dea- 
con Crosby  lookt  as  if  they  raly  felt  bad.  (They  wai, 
very  clever  men  indeed.)  They  dident  say  a  word,  but 
Deacon  Whipple  he  convarsed  a  spell  about  mattery 
and  things  in  gineral,  said  the  weather  was  oncommon 
fine  for  the  season  o'  year,  crops  were  wonderful 


DEACON    'WfllPPLE.  349 

abundant,  'specially  the  apple  crop — thougu  'twas  to 
be  lamented  that  any  o'  the  good  critters  o'  Providence 
should  be  abused  and  turned  to  the  ruination  o'  man 
kind  as  apples  was  by  bein'  made  into  cider.  Then 
he  went  on  to  deplore  the  low  state  o'  religion  in  the 
place,  axed  us  wimmin  folks  about  the  state  of  our 
minds  and  so  on,  and  then  said  they  'd  come  on  pri- 
vate bizness  and  would  like  to  see  Deacon  Bedott 
alone  a  spell.  So  we  three  wimmin  got  up  and  went 
into  the  kitchen.  "  Now,"  says  Sister  Bedott,  pays 
she,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  'd  like  to  know  what  they  Ve  come 
for — wouldent  you?"  "Yes,"  says  we.  "Well, 
then,"  says  Silly,  "  let 's  go  into  the  buttry  and  listen." 
"  Agreed,"  says  we.  So  in  we  went.  You  see  ther 
was  a  passage  between  the  settin'-room  and  the  kitch- 
en, and  on  one  side  o'  this  passage  the  buttry  was  sit- 
tiwated ;  and  ther  was  a  door  leadin'  from  the  buttry 
into  the  settin'-room,  and  atop  o'  this  door  ther  was  an 
awful  wide  crack,  so  't  a  body  could  hear  every  word 
that  was  said  in  the  settin'-room  there.  Well,  in  we 
goes,  as  still  as  mice.  Artemishy  and  me  we  got  up 
on  an  old  box  and  peeped  through  the  crack,  and  Sis- 
ter Bedott  she  put  her  ear  to  the  keyhole.  Deacon 
Whipple  had  begun  to  talk  afore  we  got  fixed.  The 
first  thing  I  heerd  him  say,  says  he,  "  It 's  very  on- 
pleasant  bizness,  very  indeed.  I  assure  you  it 's  very 
tryin'  to  my  feelins  to  be  necessiated  to  rebuke  a  bro 
ther,  but  it  seems  to  be  an  insurmour table  duty  in 


!$60  WIDOW    BEDDTT    PAPERS 

fchis  case.  We  're  all  poor  errin'  critters ;  the  best  on 
iis  is  liable  to  go  astray  and  fail  in  our  duty.  I  'm  free 
to  confess  that  even  /have  my  shortcomins  " — I  guess 
he  had  an  attack  on 't  when  he  cut  husband's  panta- 
loons; they  was  so  short  and  so  tight  he  had  to  give 
'sm  to  Jeff—"  I  have  my  shortcomins,  and  I  feel  to 
mourn  for 't ;  I  feel  to  lament  that  I  'm  frequently 
cold  and  slack  in  dewin'  my  duty — don't  keep  such  a 
constant  watch  round  the  walls  o'  Zion  as  I  'd  ought 
tew.  I  feel  as  if  it  may  be  owin'  to  my  onfaithfulness 
Brother  Bedott,  that  you  Ve  fell  into  the  practice  o' 

such  a  hyneous  offence — ahem "     "Gosh! "says 

Deacon  Bedott,  says  he — (now  Deacon  Bedott  never 
used  bad  language  in  his  life,  but  once  in  a  while  when 
he  was  dretfully  took  by  surprise  he  used  to  say 
"gosh/")— "Gosh,"  says  he,  "I  want  to  know  if  you 
was  a  meanin'  me  all  this  time  ?  Well,  I  'd  like  to 
know  what  I  Ve  ben  a  dewin'  ?"  "0  dear,"  says  Sil- 
ly, says  she,  "  it 's  husband,  it 's  husband  I  What  \aa 
he  done — what  has  he  done?"  "Don't  make  a  fuss," 
says  I ;  "they  '11  heai  you,  and  we  shall  have  to  clear 
out."  Deacon  Bedott  went  on ;  "I  ain't  aware  o'  bein' 
in  the  practice  of  any  known  sin.  If  I  Ve  done 
wrong  in  any  way  I  'm  willin'  to  be  told  on  't,  and  I  hopo 
I  sha'A  take  your  rebuke  as  I  'd  ought  tew — though  as 
I  said  afore  I  ain't  aware  o'  bein'  in  the  practice  of 
any  hyneous  , offense,  as  you  call  it."  Says  Deacon 
Whipple,  says  he,  with  a  rael  provokin'  grin,  "  I  'm 


DEACON     HTHIPPLE.  351 

raly  soiry  you  'ie  so  dull  of  apprehension,  Brother  Be- 
dott.  It 's  truly  laraentyble,  when  a  brother,  that 's  ben 
apparently  a  burnin'  and  shimn'  light,  turns  out  to  be 
euch  agreevious  transgressor — when  sinners  round  is  in 
such  perishin'  need  o'  havin'  good  examples  sot  afore 
'em,  to  make  'em  cast  down  the  weapons  o'  rebellion. 
/  nd  it 's  still  woss,  when  such  a  backslidin'  brother  is 
reasoned  with,  to  see  him  refuse  to  confess  his  faults 
and  repent  of  his  sins  and  mend  his  ways."  "  Dew 
tell  me,"  says  Deacon  Bedott,  says  he,  "what  the  sin 
is,  and  if  I  Ve  raly  been  guilty  on  't,  I'll  repent,  and 
confess,  and  forsake  it  tew."  "  I'  m  sorry  to  see  you 
so  obderret,"  says  Deacion  Whipple,  says  he.  "You 
know,  Scripter  says,  if  a  brother  is  overtook  in  a  fault, 
the  brother  must  go  tew  him  and  tell  him  on 't — and 
if  he  refuses  to  hear  'em,  why,  he  must  be  dealt  with 
afore  the  congregation ;  and  I  'm  afeard  that 's  what 
you  '?/  have  to  come  tew,  Brother  Bedott,  if  you.  hold 
out  so."  "  0  misery  me!"  says  Silly,  says  she,  "  What 
has  that  man  ben  a  dewinl  what  has  he  ben  a  dewin ! 
O  dear  me !  what  an  onfortunit  woman  I  be  I"  "  Sil- 
ly," says  I,  "  why  can't  you  shet  yer  head?  Take 
my  word  for 't,  he  hain't  done  nothin' — it  '11  turn  out, 
to  be  jest  nothin'  at  all,  I  '11  bet  a  goose,  so  dew  be 
easy."  Well,  arter  Deacon  Whipple  had  gone  on  so 
for  ever  so  long,  Deacon  Bedott  got  clear  out  o' 
patience,  and  says  he,  "Fcr  massy 's  sa^e,  what  is  it? 
Brother  Kenipe,  Brother  Crosby,  dew  tell  me  whal 


352      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

'tis."  "  I  'd  rather  not,"  says  Deacon  Kenipe,  pays  ho, 
'Brother  Whipple  begun,  and  he  ought  to  finish,'1 
"I  say  so  tew,"  says  Deacon  Crosby.  "Why,"  says 
Deaco.1  Whipple,  <(it's  curus  that  Brother  Bedott 
should  be  so  onwillin'  to  own  up,  without  my  comin' 
right  out."  "  01  dear  me,  suz!"  says  Sister  Bedott, 
"that  he  should  be  a  cuttin'  capers,  and  me  never  sus 
pect  him  on't!  0  Melissy,  I  shall  die  f  I  shall  die!' 
and  she  begun  wringin'  her  hands  like  mad.  "  You 
simple  critter,"  says  I,  "  dew  save  yer  highsteerics  till 
there  's  occasion  for  'em ;  dew  keep  still,  they  '11  hear 
you,  sartin  sure,  and  if  they  should  ketch  us  a  listening 
't  would  ruin  all  our  three  repertations."  On  account 
o'  Silly's  interruption,  we  lost  what  Deacon  Whipple 
said  next — and  the  first  thing  we  heerd  arter  she  got 
quiet  agin,  was  Deacon  Bedott  sayin'  "  It 's  curus  you 
should  be  so  willin'  to  believe  such  "a  story  about  me, 
when  you  Ve  know'd  me  some  years,  and  hain't  never 
heerd  nothin'  o'  the  kind  till  now."  "I  for  one  wa'n't 
willin'  to  believe  it,"  says  Deacon  Kenipe;  "nor  I 
nother,"  says  Deacon  Crosby,  says  he.  "  Now,  ther 
ain't  no  use  in  denyin'  on 't,  Brother  Bedott,"  says 
Deacon  Whipple,  says  he — "  A  few  years  ago,  't  wa'n't 
thought  to  be  no  great  crime,  to  take  a  glass  o'  sperrits 
now  and  then ;  ther  wa'n't  so  much  light  on  the  sub- 
ject  as  ther  is  now  in  these  ere  temperance  days ;  but, 
even  then,  'twas  eny  most  an  onheerd-of  thing  foi 
any  body,  to  git  intosticated  on  cider — as  you  're  in  a 


DEACOK    WHIFFLE.  353 

habit  o'  dewin'  now  against  light  and  privelidge — and 
you  a  deacon  tew — a  man  that  makes  such  higt  pre- 
tensions 0  Brother  Bedott  I  it 's  a  hyneous  and  a 
cryin'  sin."  "Consarn  it!"  says  Deacon  Bedott;  says 
he,  "  dew  stop  a  minnit  and  let  one  speak;  I  want  to 
know,  who  said  I  was  in  a  habit  o'  takin'  tew  much." 
"Whoever  'twas,"  says  Silly,  says  she,  "they  lied, 
and  they  know'd  it,  and  I  '11  tell  Deacon  Whipple  so — 
lemme  come,  Melissy."  (It  always  made  Silly  awful 
mad  to  have  any  body  else  run  the  deacon  down, 
though  she  used  to  give  it  tew  him  herself,  like  the 
dragon  sometimes.)  "  Woman  alive,"  says  I,  "  what 
be  you  dewin !  you  shan't  go  out  there — you  '11  jest 
spile  the  hull — and  we  shan't  hear  another  word — 
it  '11  be  time  enough  for  you  to  put  in  bymeby."  She 
made  such  a  noise,  they  'd  a  heerd  her,  if  they  hadent 
a  got  to  talkin'  purty  loud  themselves.  Well,  she  got 
still ;  and  the  next  thing  I  heerd  was  Deacon  Kenipe 
sayin',  says  he,  "  Brother  Whipple,  dew  come  to  the 
pint ;  dew  tell  Brother  Bedott,  who  't  was — and  don't 
hurt  his  feelins  any  more  'n  you  can  help."  "  Well, 
then,"  says  Deacon  Whipple,  says  he,  "'twas  yer 
brother-in-law,  Mr.  Magwire."  "Gracious  sakes 
alive  I"  says  Deacon  Bedctt,  says  he,  "did  Josh  say 
that  abcut  me  ?  What  on  arth  did  the  critter  mean  ?" 
''He  meant  what  he  said,  I  s'pose,"  says  Deacon 
Whipple,  4l  that  you  're  in  a  habit  o'  gittin'  corned  on 
Says  Deacon  Bedott,  says  he,  "Did  Josh  say 


354  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

he  d  actilly  seen  me  drunk  on  cider?"  "He  tncani 
so,  ondoubtedly,"  says  Deacon  Whipple;  "tho'  tLern 
wa'n't precisely  the  words  he  used;  he  called  to  my 
shop  to-day  a  purpose  to  tell  me  on't,  said  'twas 
awful  tryin'  to  his  feelins,  to  be  obleeged  to  expose 
you,  not  only  on  account  o'  your  bein'  a  connection  o 
hisen,  but  'cause  he  raly  thought  you  was  a  worthy 
man  in  the  main;  'but,'  says  he,  'I  dew  feel  as  if  I 
couldent  leave  Wiggletown  with  a  clear  conshence, 
without  tellin'  you  that  I  Ve  actilly  know'd  iDeacon 
Bedott  to  be  the  woss  for  cider ! — as  true  as  my  name's 
Joshuway  Magwire,  I  Ve  seen  that  man  half  shaved 
on  cider  afore  breakfast  in  the  morninV  Now,  though 
I  hain't  no  very  high  opinion  o'  Mr.  Magwire,  bein' 
he 's  a  worldly  man,  and  don't  know  nothin'  about 
experimental  religion,  I  dew  b'leve,  he  wouldent  tell 
such  a  thing  as  that  right  out  and  out,  if  't  wa'n't 
true,  'specially  about  his  brother-in-law.  I  should  a 
went  right  over  to  Parson  Potter  about  it,  if  he  'd  ben 
k>  hum,  but  he 's  gone  a  journey,  you  know.  0,  how 
that  man  will  take  it  to  heart,  when  he  hears  ther  's 
such  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothin'  in  the  midst  o'  his  flock ! 
So  I  goes  over  and  tells  Brother  Kenipe  and  Brother 
Crosby  on 't.  They  was  very  onwillin?  to  come  over 
with  me  to  labor  with  you  to-night.  I  'm  sorry  to 
Bay,  they  're  ginerally  slack  about  dewin'  their  duty 
in  cases  o'  deseplyne — the  heft  on 't  comes  on  to  me 
and  I  'm  thankful  I  'm  always  ready  to  lift  a  warnin 


DEACON    WHIFFLE.  355 

voice  in  sinaers'  ears,  and  dew  my  endeever  to  reclaim 
backsliders,  and  my  exartions  has  been  blest  beyond 
my  most  sanguinary  expectations.  I  hain't  expected 
much  help  from  you  on  account  o'  yer  poor  health ; 
and  I  feel  to  rejoice  now,  that  you  hain't  ben  active 
sence  yo~i  Ve  turned  out  to  be  such  a  hyneous  trans- 
gressor— 0,  Brother  Bedott !  if  you  're  half  shaved  on 
cider  afore  breakfast,  what  must  be  yer  condition  afore 
night!  purty  well  upsot  I  should  think."  Deacon 
Bedott  dident  say  a  word;  he  said  afterward  he 
thought  he  'd  let  Brother  Whipple  go  on,  and  see  how 
much  he  tvould.  vsay  After  a  minnit  Beacon  Whipple 
begun  agin'  and  says  he,  "  Dew  you  still  continue  to 
deny  it?"  Deacon  Bedott  never  opened  his  head 
"  Well,"  says  Deacon  Whipple,  says  he,  "silence  gives 
consent ;  so,  I  s'pose  you  don't  mean  to  hold  out  no 
longer,  and  say  't  ain't  a  fact.  Well  't  ain't  tew  late  to 
repent  and  reform  yet.  I  hope  you  11  make  up  yer 
mind,  to  come  forrard  next  Sabberday,  and  confess 
yer  besettin'  sin  afore  the  congregation  ;  and  mabby 
you  11  go  to  the  temperance  meetin'  next  Saturday 
night,  if  you  'r  able  to  git  out,  and  give  an  account  o' 
yer  experence  in  drinkin' — reformed  ineebrite  does  a 
mense  sight  of  good  tellin'  the  partickler  circum- 
stances 'tendin'  their  downfall  and  reformation — and, 
[  should  think  your  experence  would  have  an  atten- 
dancy  to  be  useful  as  a  warnin'  to  moderit  drinkers — 
by  showin'  on  'em  what  they  Ve  got  to  come  tew,  if 


356  WIDOW    BEDGTT     PAPERS. 

they  ain't  nipt  in  the  bud.  If  you  don't  consent  tc 
dew  any  or  both  o'  these,  why,  we  '11  have  to  deal  w  ith 
you,  that 's  all.  We  don't  want  to  expose  you  no 
more  'n  what 's  necessary.  I  hain't  said  a  word  about 
it  to  nobody,  but  jest  my  wife.  What  dew  you  say 
to  confession?  laffin  hey  i"  (You  see,  Deacon  Bedott 
begun  to  grin.)  "  0,  Brother  Bedott.  what  a  tremen- 
juous  sinner  you  be !  not  only  to  refuse  to  confess  yer 
inickities,  but  laff  at  'em  1  Dew  you  still  continner 
to  deny  it?"  Jest  then,  husband  bust  into  the  room : 
and  Jo  Snyder  and  Shubal  Green  and  Mr.  Smith  and 
Doctor  Pike  (Artemishy's  brother),  and  Sam  Collins 
(Jue's  brother) — they'd  followed  the  session  to  the 
house,  and  ben  a  listenin'  to  the  door  ever  sence. 
Husband,  he  went  straight  up  to  Deacon  Pedott  and 
shook  his  fist  in  his  face,  and  says  he,  "  Deny  it  if  you 
daret  afore  me ! — dident  I  see  you  half  shaved  on 
cider  this  very  mornin'  ?  dident  I  empty  the  water  out 
o'  yer  shavin'  cup  onbeknown  to  nobody,  while  it  waa 
a  heatin'  ?  and  dident  I  fill  it  up  with  some  o'  Silly's 
Bweet  cider  she  'd  got  to  make  sass  on  ?  and  was  n't  I 
a  settin'  by  when  you  took  it  off  the  stove?  and 
wasn't  I  a  lookin'  on,  when  you.  had  such  a  Iretful 
time  a  tryin'  to  make  yer  lather  ?  and  dident  I  see 
you  scrape  and  saw  away  at  your  face  till  the  blood 
run  ?  and  dident  I  see  you  throw  dcwn  yer  rarer  at 
last,  and  declare  the  old  dragon  was  in  iti  and  wacii'* 
you  jest  about  half  shaved  then?  say  I  and  oident  I 


DEACON    "WHIFFLE.  857 

bust  out  a  laffin  then,  and  tell  you  't  was  the  fust  time 
I  ever  see  you  the  woss  for  cider  ? — deny  it,  if  you 
darst."  "  I  plead  guilty,"  says  Deacon  Bedott,  says 
he.  Then  we  wimmin  folks  bust  out  o'  the  buttry 
into  the  settin1  room ;  and  ther  was  such  a  gineral 
roarin'  and  lafhn'  OP  I  never  heerd  afore  nor  sence. 
Deacon  Kenipe  and  Dtacon  Crosby  got  up  and  shook 
hands  with  Deacon  Bedott  and  axed  his  pardin'  for 
comin'  over  there  to  take  him  to  dew — and  Deacon 
Bedott,  he  told  'em,  they  wa'n't  to  blame  at  all — and 
Silly,  she  was  so  tickled ;  she  lafft  one  minnit,  and 
cried  the  next,  and  eny  most  went  into  highsteerics : 
and  Artemishy,  she  laffed,  and  Mr.  Magwire  and  the 
men  folks  they  hollered ;  and  you  never  seen  such  a 
time  as  ther  was.  Deacon  Bedott  was  a  very  kind- 
hearted  mail,  and  he  thought  they  was  a  most  tew 
hard  on  Deacon  Whipple,  so  he  turned  round  to  apol 
igize  tr  him,  and  lo  and  behold !  he  ?d  took  advantage 
o'  the  conrxotion  and  slipt  out.  But  though  Deacon 
Bedott  tried  to  look  sober,  and  told  husband 't  was  tew 
bad  to  play  off  such  a  joke — 't  vas  plain  to  be  seen  he 
wa'n't  sorry  to  see  Deacon  Whipple  come  up  with. 
Poor  Deacon  W  hippie  !  't  was  a  humblin'  stroke  tew 
him — every  body  was  throwin'  on  't  in  his  face — he 
couldent  go  no  wher,  but  what  that  cider  was  throw'd 
in  his  face.  And  Miss  Whipple  tew — she  felt  awful 
mean  about  it — you  see  she  'd  ben  all  round  the  na- 
boihooQ  &  ,'ellin'  that  Deacon  Bedott  was  a  drinkin 


358       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

man.  But  it  cured  Deacon  Whipple  of  his  oonsarn 
for  the  welfare  61  Zion  ;  lie  never  made  another  com- 
plaint aginst  nobody  while  he  lived  there ;  and  about 
six  months  afterward,  he  moved  away  from  Wiggle- 
town. 


XXIX. 

gits,  potato's  JJerip  far  J0teto 


-  Jolin  Darling,  a  worthy  and  intelligent  me- 
chanic, who  has  been,  for  two  years  past,  a  resi- 
dent of  our  town,  was  somewhat  surprised  and  consid- 
erably gratified  one  day  last  fall,  at  receiving  an  invi- 
tation to  dine  with  Colonel  Philpot,  one  of  the  aristoc- 
racy. 

Mr.  Darling  enjoys  that  respect  in  our  community 
which  mechanical  ingenuity  and  integrity  united  are 
always  sure  to  command  every  where.  These  quali- 
ties, and  a  more  than  ordinary  degree  of  information, 
acquired  by  the  employment  of  much  of  his  leisure 
time  in  reading,  have  given  him  an  almost  unbounded 
influence  among  his  own  class. 

Though  the  invitation  to  Colonel  P.'s  created  some 
surprise  in  his  mind,  he  felt  more  disposed  to  be  pleas- 
ed at  the  honor  than  to  question  the  motives  which 
prompted  it  ;  for  his  nature  is  wholly  free  from  sus- 
picion and  the  petty  feeling  of  jealousy  which  those  in 
his  station  sometimes  indulge  toward  the  "upper  ten  *' 


360  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

— feelings  with  which,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  the  bosom 
of  his  better  half  was  frequently  agitated. 

"  We  have  been  neighbors  for  some  time,  Mi.  Dar- 
ling," said  Colonel  Philpot ;  "  it  is  time  we  were  better 
acquainted.  You  must  come  and  dine  socially  with 
me  to-morrow.  Mrs.  Philpot  and  the  children  are  out 
of  town,  and  I  am  going  to  have  a  few  friends  to  en- 
liven my  solitude." 

So  John  Darling  "  saved  his  appetite,"  dressed  him- 
self in  his  best  clothes,  and,  at  the  appointed  hour — a 
somewhat  later  one  than  his  customary  time  for  dining 
—repaired  to  Colonel  Philpot's. 

He  met  there  several  of  his  associates — had  a  "  fine 
lime  and  a  grand  dinner " — the  utmost  hilarity  and 
good  feeling  prevailed ;  and  Mr.  Darling  entertained 
his  wife  with  an  account  of  it  at  every  meal  for  sever- 
al weeks. 

"  Hester,"  said  he  one  day,  as  they  were  seated  at  a 
codfish  dinner,  "did  you  ever  taste  a  potato  pud- 
ding?" 

"Potato  pudding!  No;  I  never  heerd  of  such  a 
.thing." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  could,  for  't  is  delicious  I  We 
had  one  when  I  dined  at  Colonel  Philpot's." 

"  I  wonder  what  you  did  n't  have  at  Colonel  Phil- 
pot's,"  said  Mrs.  Darling.  "  I  declare,  I  'm  tired  hear- 
ing about  it." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you  one  thing  we  did  n't  have — we 


RECIPE    FOE    POTATO    PUDDING.       361 

did  n't  have  codfish.     But,  that  pudding — I  wish  you'd 
learn  how  to  make  it ;  it  was  superb !" 

<:I  presume  so  ;  and  T  guess,  if  I  had  half  a  dozen 
seivants  at  my  heels,  and  a  thorough-trained  cook  into 
the  bargain,  I  could  have  things  superb,  too.  But,  as 
long  as  I  have  every  thing  to  do  myself,  and  very 
little  to  do  with,  I  don't  see  how  I  'm  to  get  up  things 
in  style.  I  wonder  you  can  expect  me  to." 

"  I  don't  expect  you  to,  Hester.  You  always  do 
tilings  to  suit  my  taste.  But  that  pudding  was  excel- 
lent;  and,  being  made  of  potatoes,  I  thought,  of  course 
it  must  be  economical,  and — " 

"Economical!  That  's  all  you  know  about  it. 
What  gumps  men  are !  I  '11  warrant  it  had  forty  dif 
ferent  things  in  it,  and  less  potatoes  than  any  thing 
else.  I  'm  no  hand  to  fuss  up.  I  like  plain  cookery, 
for  my  part." 

"  So  do  I,  as  a  general  thing.  But  then,  you  know, 
it 's  well  to  have  something  a  little  better  than  ordina- 
ry once  in  a  while." 

"  Well,  if  you  're  not  satisfied  with  my  way  of 
doing  things,  you  must  hire  a  cook,  or  go  and  board 
out."  And  Mrs.  Darling  put  on  her  injured  look,  and 
remained  silent  during  the  rest  of  the  dinner. 

But,  after  all,  she  was  not  an  ill-natured  woman 

really ;  and,  after  her  husband  had  gone  to  his  shop, 

she  began  to  feal  a  little  pricked  in  her  conscience  for 

having  been  so  cross  at  dinner.     She  wished  she  had 

16 


362  WIDOW     BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

not  gone  on  at  such  a  rate.  But,  then,  John  had  bored 
her  so  about  that  dinner  at  Colonel  Philpot's,  she  was 
out  of  patience  with  it.  Yet  whax  right  had  she  to  be 
out  of  patience  with  John?  Be  never  was  out  of  pa- 
tience with  her,  and  she  could  but  acknowledge  that 
he  often  had  reason  to  be  so.  So  she  resolved  to  make 
it  up  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  John,"  said  she,  as  she  handed  him  a  cup  of  tea, 
"  I  Ve  a  great  notion  to  try  that  potato  pudding.  I 
believe  I  could  make  one." 

'  No  doubt  of  it,  Hester,"  said  her  husband ;  "  you 
,jan  do  almost  any  thing  you  try  to." 

"  I  suppose  it  takes  butter,  and  sugar,  and  eggs,  and 
spices,  and  so  forth ;  but  I  wish  I  knew  the  propor- 
tions." 

"  It 's  very  easy  to  find  out  all  about  it  by  calling  at 
Colonel  Philpot's.  He  said  his  wife  would  be  delight- 
ed to  get  acquainted  with  you." 

"So  you've  told  me  a  dozen  times;  but  I  think 
that,  if  she  wanted  to  get  acquainted  with  me,  she 
might  call  upon  me.  She  's  lived  here  longer  than  I 
have,  and  it  is  n't  my  place  to  call  first ;  and  I  don't 
believe  the  colonel  tells  the  truth  when  he  says  she 
wants  to  get  acquainted  with  me." 

"  Well,  I  always  think  people  mean  as  they  say, 
and  I  wish  you  would,  too,  Hester." 

"  But  it 's  very  evident  that  she  holds  herself  a  great 
deal  above  me.  She  has  no  reason  to,  certainly,  for 


RECIFE    FOE    POTATO    PUDDING.      363 

her  family  was  n't  half  as  respectable  as  mine.  Mrs. 
David  Potter  knows  all  about  them,  root  and  branch, 
and  she  says  that  Mrs.  Philpot's  father  kept  a  very  low 
tavern  in  Norridge,  and  Mrs.  Philpot  herself  tended 
the  bar  when  she  was  a  girl.  But,  somehow,  Colonel 
Philpot  happened  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  and  he  sent 
b^r  away  to  school,  and  then  married  her." 

"  Well,  that 's  nothing  against  her,  is  it  ?" 

"  No,  of  course  it  would  n't  be,  if  she  did  n't  carry 
her  head  so  high  now.  But  it 's  always  the  way  with 
such  persons — they  never  know  how  to  bear  prosper- 
ity. There  would  n't  be  any  thing  said  about  her  ori- 
gin, if  she  did  n't  put  on  such  airs ;  but,  as  long  as 
she  feels  so  lifted  up,  folks  will  talk  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  do  her  justice,  Hester.  You 
know  nothing  about  her  excepting  what  you  Ve  heard. 
At  any  rate,  it  would  do  no  harm  to  call  upon  her." 

After  repeated  conversations  and  discussions  of  thia 
sort,  Mrs.  Darling  concluded  to  pay  Mrs.  Philpot  a 
visit.  She  could  make  the  potato  pudding  an  excuse, 
and  be  governed  by  Mrs.  P.'s  reception  in  regard  to 
further  intercourse.  Mrs.  Philpot  has  been,  for  sever- 
al /ears1  past,  to  use  her  own  expression,  "  very  unfor- 
tunate in  her  domestics,"  With  the  exception  of  her 
cook— up  to  the  time  of  Mrs.  Darling's  call-  she  had 
seldom  kept  one  above  a  month,  and  sometimes  not  as 
long  as  that.  This  frequent  change  of  servants  was 
not  so  much  owing  to  any  unkindness  on  Mrs.  Phil 


364       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

pot's  part,  as  to  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Mudlaw,  her  cook, 
could  never  agree  with  them.  This  functionary  had 
been,  for  several  years,  a  fixture  in  Colonel  P.'s  estab- 
lishment ;  indeed,  Mrs.  P.  declared  she  could  not  pos- 
sibly get  along  without  her.  Mrs.  Mudlaw  was  in 
fact,  a  good  cook,  and  so  entirely  relieved  that  lady 
from  all  care  in  that  department  that,  rather  than  part 
with  her,  she  was  willing  to  submit  to  her  petty  tyr- 
anny in  everything.  The  cook  actually  "  ruled  the 
roast "  at  Colonel  P.'s  in  more  than  one  sense.  And 
she  did  not  often  find  the  subalterns  of  the  house- 
hold as  submissive  to  her  wishes  as  Mrs.  Philpot  her- 
self was.  She  contrived  to  quarrel  them  away  in  a 
short  time,  for  she  had  only  to  say  to  Mrs.  P.,  "  Well, 
either  Bridget  or  I  must  quit,  so  you  may  take  your 
choice  ;"  and  the  offending  servant-maid  ^as  dismissed 
forthwith,  there  being  no  appeal  from  Mrs.  Mudlaw's 
decision. 

A  scene  of  this  kind  had  just  occurred  when  Mrs. 
Darling  made  her  visit,  and  a  new  raw  Irish  gnl  had 
that  morning  been  installed  in  place  of  the  one  dis- 
charged. The  duty  of  this  girl  was  to  answer  the 
door-bell,  and  help  Mrs.  Mudlaw.  In  fact,  the  hard- 
est and  most  disagreeable  of  the  kitehen-work  came 
upon  her.  When  Mrs.  Darling  rang,  Mrs.  Philpot 
was  in  the  kitchen  giving  instructions  to  Peggy,  or 
rather  acquiescing  in  those  which  Mrs.  Mudlaw  was 
laying  down. 


EECIPE    FOR    POTATO    PUDDING.      366 

''There  goes  the  bell,"  said  that  important  person- 
age, and  Mrs.  Philpot  hastened  to  an  upper  window  to 
ree  who  it  was,  Having  satisfied  herself,  she  came 
back  and  told  Peggy  to  go  and  admit  the  lady. 

"  Why  don't  you  start,  you?"  said  Mrs.  Mudlaw. 

"  Well,  what  '11 1  do  now  ?"  said  Peggy,  whirling 
round  in  that  bewildered  way  peculiar  to  Irish  girls. 

"  Do !"  roared  Mudlaw.  "  Don't  you  know  nothin'? 
Hain't  we  jest  been  tellin'  ye  't  was  your  duty  to  tend 
to  the  door-bell  ?  Run  to  the  front  door  and  let  'em 
in,  and  show  'em  into  the  drawin'-room.  You  know 
vrhere  that  is,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Faith,  I  know  that,"  answered  Peggy,  and  away 
she  rar^  thanking  her  stars  that  there  was  at  least  one 
thing  that  she  knew. 

"  It 's  no  one  that  I  know,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Philpot,  after  Peggy  had  gone ;  "  at  least  the  bonnet 
and  shawl  are  not  familiar  to  me.  I  presume  it  is 
somebody  I  don't  care  about  seeing." 

"I  should  n't  wonder,"  said  Mudlaw.  "But  1 
s'pose  you  could  n't  do  otherways,  as  the  curnel  has 
given  orders  that  nobody  ain't  to  be  refused  till  after 
'lection? 

With  much  confusion  and  toe-stubblirig,  the  unfor- 
tunate Peggy  ushered  Mrs.  Darling  into  the  nursery, 
which  was  also  Mrs.  Philpot's  ordinary  sitting-r<>om. 
It  was  directly  over  the  kitchen,  and  heated  by  the 
cooking  stove  by  the  means  of  a  drum,  or  dummy,  as 


866  WIDOW    BETiOTT    PAPERS. 

Mrs.  Mudlaw  called  it.  Every  word  that  was  said  in 
the  kitchen  could  easily  be  heard  in  the  nursery — 
quite  a  convenience  to  Mudlaw,  as  it  enabled  her  often 
to  communicate  with  Mrs.  Philpot  without  the  trouble 
of  going  up  stairs.  Many  an  interesting  account  of 
what  she  did  when  Mr.  Mudlaw  was  living,  and  hov7 
they  managed  at  General  K.'s  when  she  was  staying 
there,  has  gone  up  that  stove-pipe. 

The  nursery  was  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  disorder, 
as  was  usually  the  case,  though  the  children  were  all 
out  just  then,  Sukey  the  nurse-girl,  had  taken  the 
baby  out  to  ride,  and  Philip  Augustus  had  gone  with 
them ;  and  Zoe  Matilda  was  at  school.  Playthings  of 
every  description,  carts,  horses,  dolls,  as  well  as  chil 
dren's  books  and  clothes,  were  scattered  about  the  room 
in  what  Mrs.  Darling  called  "  awful  confusion."  But 
3he  had  not  time  for  inward  comments  upon  this  state 
of  things,  before  her  attention  was  called  to  the  con 
versation  below. 

"It's  Mrs.  Darling  as  wushes  to  see  you  mum." 
said  Peggy. 

"  That  Mrs.  Darling !     Did  you  ever !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Philpot. 

" She  ain't  nobody,  is  she?''  said  Mrs.  Mudlaw. 

"Nobody  at  all.     Her  husband  is  a  cabinet-maker 
but  the  colonel  has  charged  it  upon  rae  to  be  polite  to 
her  jest  now.     He  wished  me  to  call  upon  her ;  but  1 
would  n't  condescend  to  stoop  so  low  as  that,  though 


RECIFE    FOB    POTATO    PUDDING.       367 

ae  made  me  promise  to  treat  her  with  attention  if  she 
called." 

"  Well,  I  wouldent  do  it,  if  I  was  you,"  said  the 
cook.  "  I  'd  be  mistress  in  my  own  house  any  how." 

"But,  yon  know,  it's  for  his  interest  now.  He 
aays  that  Darling  has  a  great  deal  of  influence  among 
mechanics — can  command  a  good  many  votes." 

"  Oh,  I  remember  now  !  he  's  one  of  them  codgers 
that  dined  here  while  you  was  away,  that  the  curnel 
was  a  laughin'  about  afterward,  and  telling  you  how 
awkward  they  handled  the  silver  forks." 

"  Yes ;  is  n't  it  provoking  to  have  to  be  polite  to 
such  people  ?  Well,  I  shall  be  glad  when  'lection  's 
over,  for  the  colonel  says  I  may  cut  them  all  then, 
and  I  think  it  won';  be  long  before  they  sink  back  to 
their  own  level."  And  Mrs.  Philpot  arose  with  a  sigh, 
and  ascended  to  the  drawing-room,  arranging  her 
features  into  a  gracious  and  patronizing  expression  as 
she  went. 

Mrs.  Darling's  feelings  during  this  conversation 
"  can  1x3  better  imagined  than  described,"  as  the  novels 
would  jay.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  leave  the  house 
withor.t  waiting  for  Mrs.  Philpot's  appearance,  and  she 
rose  a  ad  made  a  few  steps  with  that  intention;  but, 
on  sf.  3ond  thoughts,  she  resolved  to  remain,  and  let 
her  know  that  she  only  came  on  an  errand,  and  re- 
sumed her  seat. 

When  Mrs.  Philpot  found  no  one  in  the  drawing- 


868  WIDOW    BEl/OTT    PAPERS. 

room  she  returned  to  the  kitchen,  supposing  that  her 
visitor  had  gone. 

"  She 's  gone,"  said  she,  "  without  waiting  for  me. 
She  does  n't  know  enough  about  good  society  to  un- 
.  derstand  that  a  lady  does  n't  make  her  appearance  the 
moment  she 's  called  for." 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  if  she  was  in  the  nursery  all 
the  time,"  said  Mudlaw;  "for  I  heard  a  stepping  up 
there  a  while  ago,  and  the  children  hain't  got  homo 
yet.  Where  did  you  take  her  to,  you  ?" 

"  Why,  I  tuck  her  in  the  dhrawin'-room,  sure,  as 
you  tould  me,  right  overbid,"  said  Peggy,  in  some 
alarm. 

"  You  blun'derin'  Irish  gumphead !  Don't  yon 
know  the  drawin'  room  from  the  nursery  ?" 

"  Och  I  but  I  thought  it  was  the  dhrawin'-room ; 
for  dident  I  see  the  young  masther  a  dhrawin'  his  cart, 
and  was  n't  Shukey  a  dhrawin'  the  baby  about  the 
floore  by  its  feet,  when  I  went  up  to  take  the  wather 
this  mornin'  ?" 

"  There,  I  told  you  she  was  a  born  fool !"  said  Mud- 
law,  in  a  rage.  "  She  '11  never  know  nothing — she  '11 
never  learn  nothing—  you  may  as  well  send  her  off 
first  as  last." 

"  Hush  I  don't  spealr  so  loud,"  said  Mrs.  Philpot,  in 
a  whisper.  "  She  can  hear  all  you  say — she  has  heard 
enough  already.  Dear  me,  what  shall  I  do?  The 
colonel  will  be  so  provoked  '  How  could  you  be  so 


RECIPE    FOR    POTATO    PUDDING.       £69 

dumb,  Peggy  ?  Run  right  up  and  take  her  into  the 
diawing-room.  Stop  \  you  needn't;  you  will  make 
some  other  mistake.  I  '11  go  myself." 

In  a  state  of  mind  not  to  be  envied,  Mrs.  Philpc  t 
hastened  to  the  nursery.  But -as  she  entertained  a 
faint  hope  that  the  conversation  below, had  not  pene 
trated  through  Mrs.  Darling's  bonnet,  she  endeavored 
to  hide  her  embarrassment  under  an  affable  smile,  ex- 
tended her  hand  gracefully,  and  drawled  out  a  genteel 
welcome  to  her  visitor. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Darling;  but  very 
sorry  you  should  have  been  brought  into  the  nursery'1 
— no  wonder  she's  sorry,  thought  Mrs.  Darling — 
"  these  raw  Irish  girls  are  so  stupid !  Walk  into  the 
parlor,  if  you  please." 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Philpot,  I  'd  as  soon  sit 
iere,"  returned  Mrs.  Darling.  "I  can  only  stay  a 
moment  I  called  to  ask  for  a  recipe  for  potato  pud- 
ding. Mr.  Darling  tasted  one  when  he  dined  with 
Colonel  Philpot,  and  liked  it  so  much  that  he  wished 
me  to  get  directions  for  making  it." 

"  Potato  pudding?  Ah,  yes,  I  recollect-  Mudlaw, 
my  cook,  does  make  a  very  good  plain  thing  that  she 
calls  d  potato  pudding ;  but  I  know  nothing  about  her 
manner  of  preparing  it.  I  will  call  her,  however,  and 
she  shall  tell  you  herself.'"  Thereupon  she  pulled  the 
bell,  and  Peggy,,  shortly  appeared,  looking  more- 
frightened  and  bewildered  than  ever. 
16* 


370  7TIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

"  Send  Mudlaw  here,"  said  Mrs.  Pliilpot 

She  would  not  have  dared  to  address  her  "  chief 
cook  and  bottle-washer"  without  the  respectful  title  of 
\irs. ;  but  it  was  rather  more  grand  to  omit  it,  and  she 
always  did  so  when  not  in  her  hearing. 

"The  missus  said  I  was  to  send  you  there,"  sai.l 
Peggy. 

"  You  send  me!"  exclaimed  the  indignant  cook. 
"I  guess  when  I  go  for  your  sending,  it  '11  be  after 
this." 

Mrs.  Philpot,  although  conversing  in  a  condescend 
ing  manner  with  Mrs.  Darling,  caught  something  of  the 
cook's  reply  to  her  summons,  and  asked  to  be  excused 
for  a  moment,  saying  that  Peggy  was  so  stupid,  she 
feared  that  Mudlaw  might  not  understand  her,  and 
she  would  go  herself  and  send  her.  So  she  hastened 
down  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  found  the  head  func- 
tionary standing  on  her  dignity. 

"Pretty  well,"  said  she,  "if  I  am  to  be  ordered 
lound  by  an  Irish  scullion  !" 

"  Mrs.  Mudlaw,  step  here  a  moment,  if  you  please," 
Baid  Mrs.  Philpot  meekly,  opening  the  door  of  an  ad 
joining  room. 

The  offended  lady  vouchsafed  to  comply  with  the 
request,  and  with  a  stern  aspect,  entered  the  room 
with  Mrs.  Philpot.  The  latter  closed  the  door  for  fear 
of  being  heard  overhead,  and  began — 

"What  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Mudlaw?     That  Mrs 


RECIPE    FOR    POTATO    PUDDING.       371 

Dailing  has  come  to  learn  how  to  make  potato  pud- 
ding, and  you  '11  have  to  go  up  and  tell  her." 

"  I  sha'n't  do  it  I  make  it  a  point  never  to  give 
my  recipes  to  nobody." 

"I  know  it;  and,  I'm  sure  I  don't  blame  you, 
But,  in  this  case — -just  now — I  really  don't  see  how 
we  can  refuse." 

"  Well,  I  sha'n't  do  it,  and  that 's  the  hull  on  V1 

"  Oh,  do,  Mrs.  Mudlaw,  just  this  once.  The  colo- 
nel is  so  anxious  to  secure  Darling,  and  he  will  be  so 
angry  if  we  offend  them  in  any  way." 

" But  he  needent  know  it,  need  he?" 

"  He  certainly  will  find  it  out  by  some  means.  I 
know  it  is  real  vexatious  to  you,  and  I  would  n't  ask 
it  if  election  was  over ;  and  now  't  is  very  important 
— it  may  save  us  all  trouble.  The  colonel  is  so  de- 
cided you  know." 

These  last  words  of  Mrs.  Philpot  had  an  effect 
upon  Mudlaw  which  no  wish  or  entreaty  of  that  lady 
would  have  ever  produced,  for  they  suggested  to  her 
selfish  mind  the  possibility  of  a  dismissal  from  her 
snug  birth  at  Colonel  P.'s,  where  she  carried  it  with  a 
high  hand;  so  she  gave  in. 

"  Well,  jest  to  please  you  and  the  curnel,  1 11  do  it ; 
but  I  wish  'lection  was  over." 

Mrs.  Philpot  returned  to  the  nursery,  and  Mra 
Mudlaw  took  off  her  apron,  changed  her  cap  for  one 
trimmed  with  pink  ribbons  and  blue  roses,  gave  DU 


372       WIDOW  BEDOTT.  PAPERS. 

m&rcus  orders  to  Peggy  and  followed.  She  "was  a 
short,  fat  woman,  with  a  broad  red  face — such  a  per 
eon  as  a  stranger  would  call  the  very  personification 
of  good  nature ;  though  I  have  never  found  fat  people 
to  be  any  more  amiable  than  lean  ones.  Certainly, 
Mrs.  Mudlaw  was  not  a  very  sweet  tempered  woman 
On  this  occasion,  she  felt  rather  more  cross  than  usual, 
forced,  as  she  was,  to  give  one  of  her  recipes  to  a  no- 
body. She,  however,  knew  the  necessity  of  assuming 
a  pleasant  demeanor  at  that  time,  and  accordingly  en- 
tered the  nursery  with  an  encouraging  grin  on  her 
blazing  countenance.  Mrs.  Philpot,  fearing  lest  her 
cook's  familiarity  might  belittle  her  roistress  in  the 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Darling,  and  again  asking  to  be  excused 
for  a  short  time,  went  into  the  library,  a  nondescript 
appartment,  dignified  by  that  name,  which  communi- 
cated with  the  nursery.  The  moment  she  left  her  seat, 
a  large  rocking-chair,  Mudlaw  dumped  herself  down 
it,  exclaiming — 

"  Miss  Philpot  says  you  want  to  get  my  recipe  for 
potater  puddin'  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Darling.  "  I  would  be  obliged 
to  you  for  the  directions."  And  she  took  out  of  her 
pocket  a  pencil  and  paper  to  write  it  down. 

"Well,  'tis  an  excellent  puddin',"  said  Mudlaw 
complacently ;  "  for  my  part,  I  like  it  about  as  well  as 
any  puddin'  I  make,  and  that 's  sayin'  a  good  deal,  1 
win  tell  you,  for  I  understand  makin'  a  great  varietv 


RECIFE    FOR    POTATO    PUDDING.       373 

T  ain't  so  awful  rich  as  some,  to  be  sure.  Now. 
there  's  the  Cardinelle  puddin',  and  the  Washington 
puddin',  and  the  Lay  Fayette  puddin',  and  the — " 

"Yes.  Mr.  Darling  liked  it  very  much — how  do 
you  make  it  ?" 

"  Wai,  I  peel  my  potaters  and  bile  'em  in  fair  water. 
I  always  let  the  water  bile  before  I  put  'em  in.  Some 
folks  let  their  potaters  lie  and  sog  in  the  water  ever  so 
long,  before  it  biles ;  but  I  think  it  spiles  'em.  I  al- 
ways make  it  a  pint  to  have  the  water  bile — " 

"  How  many  potatoes  ?" 

"  Wai,  I  always  take  about  as  many  potaters  as  I 
think  I  shall  want.  I  'm  generally  governed  by  the 
size  o'  the  puddin'  I  want  to  make.  If  it 's  a  large 
puddin',  why  I  take  quite  a  number,  but  if  it 's  a  small 
one,  why,  then  I  don't  take  as  many.  As  quick  as 
they  're  done,  I  take  'em  up  and  mash  'em  as  fine  as  I 
can  get  'em.  I  'm  ^always  very  partic'lar  about  that — 
some  folks  ain't ;  they  '11  let  their  potaters  be  full  o' 
lumps.  /  never  do ;  if  there 's  any  thing  I  hate,  it 's 
lumps  in  potaters.  I  won't  have  'em.  Whether  I  'm 
mashin'  potaters  for  puddin's  or  for  vegetable  use,  3 
mash  it  till  there  ain't  the  size  of  a  lump  in  it.  If  1 
can't  git  it  fine  without  sifting,  why  I  sift  it.  Once  in 
a  while,  when  I  'm  otherways  engaged,  I  set  the  girl 
to  mashin'  on  't.  Wai,  she  '11  give  it  three  or  four 
jams,  and  come  along,  '  Miss  Mudlaw,  is  the  potater 
fine  enough?'  Jubiter  Eammin!  that's  the  time  I 


374  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

come  as  near  gittin  mad  as  I  ever  allow  myself  to 
come,  for  I  make  it  a  pint  never  to  have  lumps —  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  is  very  important.     What  next?" 

"  Wai,  then  I  put  in  my  butter ;  in  winter  time  I 
melt  it  a  little,  not  enough  to  make  it  ily,  but  jest  so 's 
to  soften  it." 

"  How  much  butter  does  it  require  ?" 

"  Wai  I  always  take  butter  accordin'  to  the  size  of 
the  puddin' ;  a  large  puddin'  needs  a  good  sized  lump 
o'  butter,  but  not  too  much.  And  I  'm  always  partic'- 
lar  to  have  my  butter  fresh  and  sweet,  Some  folks 
think  it 's  no  matter  what  sort  o'  butter  they  use  for 
cookin',  but  /  don't.  Of  all  things,  I  do  despise  strong 
frowy,  rancid  butter.  For  pity's  sake  have  your  but- 
ter fresh." 

"  How  much  butter  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Wai,  that  depends,  as  I  said  before,  on  what  sized 
puddin'  you  want  to  make.  And  another  thing  that 
regulates  the  quality  of  butter  I  use  is  the  'mount  o' 
cream  I  take.  I  always  put  in  more  or  less  cream  ; 
when  I  have  abundance  o'  cream,  I  put  in  considerable 
and  when  it 's  scarce,  why,  I  use  more  butter  than  I 
otherways  should.  But  you  must  be  partic'lar  not  to 
get  in  too  much  cream.  There 's  a  great  deal  in  hav 
in'  jest  the  right  quantity ;  and  so  'tis  with  all  the  in- 
grejiences.  There  ain't  a  better  puddin'  in  the  world 
than  a  potato  puddin',  when  it 's  made  right,  but  rt  ain  't 
every  body  that  makes  'em  right.  I  remember  when 


RECIFE    FOB    POTATO    PULLING.        875 

I  lived  in  Tuckertown,  I  was  a  visitin'  to  Squire  Hum- 
prey's  one  time — I  went  in  the  first  company  in  Tuck- 
ertown— dear  me !  this  is  a  changeable  world.  Wai, 
they  had  what  they  called  a  potato  puddin'  for  dinner, 
Good  land  !  Of  all  the  puddins !  I  Ve  often  occur- 
ed  to  that  puddin'  since,  and  wondered  what  the 
Squire's  wife  was  a  thinkin'  of  when  she  made  it.  I 
wa  'n  t  obleeged  to  do  no  such  things  in  them  days, 
and  dident  know  how  to  do  any  thing  as  well  as  I  do 
now.  Necessity  's  the  mother  of  invention.  Experi- 
ence is  the  best  teacher,  after  all — " 

"  Do  you  sweeten  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure  it  needs  sugar,  the  best  o' 
sugar,  too  ;  not  this  wet,  soggy,  brown  sugar.  Some 
folks  never  think  o'  usin'  good  sugar  to  cook  with,  but 
for  my  part  I  won't  have  no  other." 

"  How  much  sugar  do  you  take  ?" 

"  Wai,  that  depends  altogether  on  whether  you  cal 
collate  to  have  sass  for  it — some  like  sass,  you  know, 
and  then  some  agin  don't.  So,  when  I,  calculate  for 
sass,  I  don't  take  BO  much  sugar ;  and  when  I  don  t 
calculate  for  sass,  I  make  it  sweet  enough  to  eat  with- 
out sass.  Pooi  Mr.  Mudlaw  was  a  great  hand  for 
puddin'sass.  I  always  made  it  for  him — good,  rich 
eass  too.  I  could  afford  to  have  things  rich  before  he 
was  unfortinate  in  bizness."  (Mudlaw  went  to  State's 
prison  for  horse-stealing.)  "  I  like  sass  myself,  too : 
And  the  curnel  and  the  children  are  all  great  snse 


876  WIDOW    PEDOTT    PAPERS. 

hands;  and  so  I  generally  calculate  for  sass,  (hough 
Miss  Philpot  prefers  the  puddin'  without  sass,  and  per- 
haps you  'c?  prefer  it  without.  If  so  you  must  put  in 
sugar  accordingly.  I  always  make  it  a  pint  to  have 
'em  sweet  enough  when  they're  to  be  eat  without 


"And  don't  you  use  eggs?" 

"Certainly,  eggs  is  one  o'  the  principal  mgreji- 
ences." 

"  How  many  does  it  require  ?" 

"Wai,  when  eggs  is  plenty,  I  always  use  plenty; 
and  when  they  're  scarce,  why  I  can  do  with  less, 
though  I  'd  ruther  have  enough ;  and  be  sure  and  beat 
'em  well.  It  does  distress  me,  the  way  some  folks 
beat  eggs.  I  always  want  to  have  'em  thoroughly 
beat  for  every  thing  I  use  'em  in.  It  tries  my  patience 
most  awfully  to  have  any  body  round  me  that  wcn't 
beat  eggs  enough.  A  spell  ago  we  had  a  darkey  to 
help  in  the  kitchen.  One  day  I  was  a  makin'  sponge 
cake,  and  havin'  occasion  to  go  up  stairs  after  some- 
thing, I  sot  her  to  beatin'  the  eggs.  Wai,  what  do 
you  think  the  critter  done  ?  Why,  she  whisked  'em 
round  a  few  times,  and  turned  'em  right  onto  the 
other  ingrejiences  that  I  'd  got  weighed  out.  When  I 
come  back  and  saw  what  she  'd  done,  my  gracious !  I 
came  as  nigh  to  losin'  my  temper  as  I  ever  allow  my- 
self to  come.  'T  was  awful  provokin'l  I  always 
want  the  kitchen  help  to  do  things  as  I  want  to  have 


RECIPE    FOR    POTATO    PUDDING.       377 

'em  done.  But  I  never  saw  a  darkey  yet  that  ever 
done  any  thing  right.  They're  a  lazy  slaughterin' 
set.  To  think  o'  her  spiiin'  that  cake  so,  when  I  'd 
tcld  her  over  and  over  agin  that  I  always  made  it  a 
pint  tc  have  ray  eggs  thoroughly  beat !" 

"  Yes.  it  was  too  bad.  Do  you  use  fruit  in  the  pud- 
ding?" ' 

"  Wai,  that 's  jest  as  you  please.  You  'd  better  be 
governed  by  your  own  judgment  as  to  that.  Some 
like  currants  and  some  like  raisins,  and  then  agin  some 
don't  like  nary  one.  If  you  use  raisins,  for  pity's  . 
sake  pick  out  the  stuns.  It 's  awful  to  have  a  body's 
teeth  come  grindin'  onto  a  raisin  stun.  I  'd  rather 
have  my  ears  boxt  any  time." 

"  How  many  raisins  must  I  take  ?" 

"  Wai  not  too  many — it 's  apt  to  make  the  puddin' 
heavy,  you  know ;  and  when  it 's  heavy  it  ain't  so 
light  and  good.  I  'm  a  great  hand — " 

"  Yes,  what  do  you  use  for  flavoring  ?" 

"  There  agin  you  '11  have  to  exercise  your  own 
judgment.  Some  likes  one  thing,  and  some  another, 
you  know.  If  you  go  the  whole  figger  on  temperance, 
why  some  other  kind  o'  flavyrin'  '11  do  as  well  as  wine 
or  brandy,  I  s'pose.  But  whatever  you  make  up  your 
mind  to  use,  be  partic'lar  to  git  in  a  sufficiency,  or 
else  your  puddin'  '11  be  flat  I  always  make  it  a 
pint — " 

"  How  long  must  it  bake  ?' 


878       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  There 's  the  great  thing  after  all.  The  bakin's  the 
main  pint.  A  potater  pudding  }f  all  puddins,  has  got 
to  be  baked  jest  right.  For  if  it  bakes  a  leetle  too 
much,  it 's  apt  to  dry  it  up ;  and  then  agin  if  it  don't 
bake  quite  enough,  it's  sure  to  taste  potatery — and 
that  spiles  it,  you  know." 

"  How  long  should  you  think  ?" 

"  Wai,  that  depends  a  good  deal  on  the  heat  o'  your 
oven.  If  you  have  a  very  hot  oven,  't  won't  do  to 
leave  it  in  too  long ;  and  if  your  oven  ain't  so  very- 
hot,  why,  you  '11  be  necessiated  to  leave  it  in  longer." 

"  Well,  how  can  I  tell  any  thing  about  it?" 

"  Well,  I  always  let  them  bake  till  I  tnink  they  're 
done — that 's  the  safest  way.  I  make  it  a  pint  to  have 
'em  baked  exactly  right.  It 's  very  important  in  all 
kinds  o'  bakin' — cake,  pies,  bread,  puddins,  and 
every  thing — to  have  'em  baked  precisely  long  enough 
and  jest  right.  Some  folks  don't  seem  to  have  no  sys- 
tem at  all  about  their  bakin'.  One  time  they  '11  burn 
their  bread  to  a  crisp,  and  then  agin  it  '11  be  so  slack 
't  aia't  fit  to  eat.  Nothin'  hurts  my  feelins  so  much 
as  to  see  things  overdone  or  slack-baked.  Here  only 
t'other  day,  Lorry,  the  girl  that  Miss  Philpot  dis- 
missed yesterday,  come  within  an  ace  o'  letting  ray 
bread  burn  up.  My  back  was  turned  for  a  minnit, 
and  what  should  she  do  but  goto  stufiin'*  wood  into  the 
stove  at  the  awfullest  late?  If  I  hadent  a  found  it 
out  jest  when  I  did,  my  breai  would  a  ben  spilt  aa 


RECIPE    FOB    POTATO    PUDDING.       379 

sure  as  I  'm  a  live  woman.  Jubiter  Eammin  I  I  was 
about  as  n-ucli  decomposed  as  I  ever  allow  myself  to 
git  1  1  tcld  Miss  Philpot  I  wouldent  stan'  it  no  longer 
— one  of  us  must  quit — eithe.  Lorrv  or  me  must 
walk.?' 

"  So  you.  Ve  no  rule  about  baking  this  pudding  ?" 

"  No  rule !"  said  Mudlaw,  with  a  lock  of  intense 
surprise. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Darling,  "  you  seem  to  have  no 
ruie  for  any  thing  about  it." 

"No  rule!"  screamed  the  indignant  cook,  starting 
up,  while  her  red  face  grew  ten  times  redder,  and  her 
little  black  eyes  snapped  with  rage.  "  No  rules !"  and 
she  planted  herself  in  front  of  Mrs.  Darling,  erecting 
her  fleshy  figure  to  its  full  hight  of  majestic  dumpi- 
ness, and  extending  the  forefinger  of  her  right  hand 
till  it  reachsd  an  alarming  propinquity  to  that  lady's 
nose  "  No  rules !  do  you  tell  me  I  Ve  no  rules !  Me ! 
that 's  cooked  in  the  first  families  for  fifteen  years,  and 
always  gi'n  satisfaction,  to  b_e  told  by  such  as  you  that 
>  hain't  no  rules !" 

Tims  far  had  Mudiaw  proceeded,  and  I  know  not 
to  what  length  she  would  have  "  allowed  herself"  to 
go  had  not  the  sudden  entrance  of  Colonel  Philpot 
interrupted  her  He  being  a  person  of  whom  she 
stood  somewhat  in  awe,  particularly  "jest  at  this  time," 
she  broke  off  in  the  midst  of  her  tirade,  and,  casting  a 
\ook  of  ineffable  disgust  at  Mrs.  Darling,  retreated  to 


380  WIDOW     BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

her  own  dominions  to  vent  her  fury  upon  poor  Peggy 
who  had  dene  every  thing  wrong  during  her  ab- 
sence. 

While  Colonel  Philpot  was  expressing  his  extreme 
satisfaction  at  seeing  Mrs.  Darling,  Mrs.  Philpot 
emerged  from  the  library,  where  she  had  been  shak- 
ing in  her  shoes  during  the  interview  between  that; 
lady  and  Mudlaw. 

"  Matilda,  my  dear,"  said  the  colonel,  "  this  is  quite 
an  unexpected  pleasure,  for  really  Mrs.  Darling,  we 
began  to  fear  that  you  did  not  intend  to  cultivate 
us." 

"I  did  not  come  for  that  purpose,"  replied  Mrs.  Dar- 
ling, who,  now  that  she  saw  through  Colonel  Philpot, 
despised  him  thoroughly,  and  was  not  afraid  to  let 
him  know  it,  notwithstanding  he  belonged  to  the  aris- 
tocracy of  our  town.  -"I  came  on  an  errand,  and 
your  cook  has  got  very  angry  with  rne  for  some  reason, 
I  scarcely  know  what." 

"Poor  Mudlaw,"  said  Mrs.  Philpot,  anxious  t<? 
screen  her  main  stay  from  the  colonel's  displeasure, 
yet  feeling  the  necessity  of  some  apology  to  Mrs.  Dar 
ling.  "Poor  Mudlaw !  I  don't  think  she  intended  to 
be  rude." 

"What !  has  the  cook  been  ruda  t3  Mrs.  Darling?' 
nxclaimed  Colonel  Philpot. 

"Not  rude,  exactly,  dear;  but  you  know  she  is  so 
sensitive  about  every  thing  connected  with  her  depart 


RECIPE    FOB    POTATO    PUDDING.       881 

mcnt.  and  she  fancied  that  Mis  Darling  called  hei 
skill  into  question,  and  became  somewhat  excited." 

li  Quite  exciied,  I  should  call  it,"  said  Mrs.  D.  with 
a  smile. 

"  And  she  has  dared  to  treat  Mrs.  Darling  rudely," 
Haid  Colonel  P.,  apparently  much  agitated.  "  Shame- 
ful !  disgraceful !  the  wretch  shall  suffer  for  it !  To 
think  that  a  lady  lika  Mrs.  Darling  should  be  insulted 
by  a  cook.!  in  my  house,  too!" 

"  And  just  before  election,  too ;  it  is  a  pity !"  said 
Mrs  Darling  quietly,  as  she  rose,  and  wishing  them 
good-morning,  departed,  leaving  Colonel  Philpot  lost 
in  astonishment.  Her  last  remark  rendered  necessary 
some  explanation  from  Mrs.  P.  She  was  compelled 
to  repeat  some  part  of  the  conversation  that  had  taken 
place  in  the  kitchen,  which,  though  softened  down  aa 
tnuch  as  possible,  was  sufficient  to  rouse  the  colonel's 
ndignation  to  the  highest  pitch,  for  he  saw  at  once 
that  Darling  was  lost.  He  gave  his  silly  wife  a  hearty 
blowing  up,  but  upon  Mudlaw,  his  wrath  fell  heaviest. 
No  entreaties  of  her  mistress  could  save  her ;  she  wag 
commanded  to  quit  the  premises,  to  troop  forthwith 
u  for  being  rude  to  visitors."  But  Mudlaw  knew  well 
enough  the  real  reason  of  her  dismissal,  and  when 
she  went  forth  in  rage  and  sorrow,  she  found  somo 
consolation  in  spreading  it  far  and  wide,  thereby  mak- 
ing Colonel  Philpot  very  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  the 
community. 


382      WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"Well,  I'm  surprised,  Hester,"  said  John  Darling, 
after  his  wife  had  given  him  a  circumstantial  account 
of  her  visit.  "  And  I  'm  right  sorry,  too,  to  have  my 
good  opinion  of  a  man  knocked  in  the  head  so,  for  1 
did  think  well  of  Col.  Philpot.  I  really  believed  we 
could  n't  send  a  better  man  to  Congress.  But  it  won't 
do.  A  man  that  can  stoop  to  such  conduct  is  n't  fit 
to  go  there.  I  can't  vote  for  him,  and  my  influence, 
what  little  I  have,  must  go  against  him.  If  he  gete 
there,  it  must  be  without  any  help  from  John  Par- 
ling." 

Colonel  Philpot  did  not  go  to  Congress,  and  wl^st 
made  his  defeat  the  more  aggravating  was  the  fact  that 
his  opponent  was  elected  by  the  small  majority  of 
three  votes.  And  so  Colonel  Philpot  lost  his  slec- 
tion ;  and  Mrs.  Philpot  lost  her  cook  ;  and  Mr  Darling 
icst  his  esteem  for  Colonel  Philpot,  and  all  through 
the  over-politeness  of  the  latter. 

And  was  there  nothing  gained?  Oh,  yes;  Mrs. 
Darling  gained  something.  Not  much  information  in 
regard  to  the  potato  pudding,  certainly;  but  she 
gained  some  knowledge  of  the  internal  arrangements 
of  Mrs.  Philpot's  household,  which  proved  of  great 
service  to  her,  for  she  confesses  to  John  that  she  was 
never  so  contented  with  her  own  home  and  her  OWE 
husband  as  she  has  been  since  she  made  that  memora 
ble  call  at  Colonel  Philpot's. 


XXX. 


Calls  ;  0r,  $terg  h0tf  «  $attal« 
Jfriwfo. 

'  f^  OOD  morning,  Miss  Mary  !" 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Shaw  I" 

"  I  'm  well  aware  that  I  don't  owe  any  call  here, 
but  I  told  Mr.  Shaw  that  the  morning  was  so  fine,  I  'd 
just  step  in  and  see  whether  y»u  were  all  alivc;  for 
really  it  seems  an  age  since  I  saw  any  of  you  —  you  :ve 
not  l^een  at  all  neighborly  of  late." 

"  1  know  it,  Mrs.  Shaw,  but  you  must  excuae  us, 
for  grandmother  has  been  so  feeble  for  some  weeks 
past  that  we  have  not  been  able  to  leave  —  mother  is 
with  her  now  and  desires  to  be  excused." 

"  Certainly  ;  she  is  very  excusable.  I  was  not 
aware  that  your  grandmother  was  sick  —  I  'm  excess- 
ively sorry  to  hear  it  —  should  assuredly  have  been 
round  to  see  her  before  had  I  been  aware  of  her  ill- 
ness. I  do  think  so  much  of  your  grandmother  —  she 
is  certainly  the  sweetest  old  lady  that  I  ever  knew.  I 
tell  Mr.  Shaw  she  reminds  me  so  much  of  my  own 
dear  dead  mother  —  has  the  same  dignified  manner  and 
benevolent  countenance  that  she  had  And  her  char 


884  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

actcr  is  very  much  like  my  mother's,  too,  always  doing 
good  among  the  poor  and  sick.  I  regret  excessively 
that  I  was  not  aware  of  her  illness — should  certainly 
have  been  round,  though  my  own  health  has  been 
very  precarious — in  fact,  it  always  is — I  go  out  very 
little — none  at  all  excepting  among  my  particular 
friends.  I  do  hope  your  grandma ']]  be  spared — we 
could  n\  part  with  her  any  way — there  are  so  few  like 
her  on  earth — and  the  poet  says  "  Heaven  is  overflow- 
ing." Ah  I  I  see  you  have  Dickens'  last  here — I  sup- 
pose it 's  excessively  interesting." 

"  No— I  think  it 's  hardly  worth  reading." 
'  Indeed !  well,  of  course  I  shall  not  read  it  if  you 
condemn  It— you  are  such  an  excellent  judge  of  liter- 
ature, and  such  a  reader — your  own  pro  iuc  dons,  too, 
are  exquisite — Mr.  Shaw  is  perfectly  charmed  with 
them.     What  a  beauty  your  japon^ca  is,  I  noticed  it 
last  evening  in  passing.     Ah  !  that  reminds  me  they 
tell  stories  about  you,  Mary." 
"  Indeed !  what  do  Gity  say  about  me,  pray  ?" 
"  O,  they  say  you  're  going  to  be  married.'' 
"The  deuce  I  am!     To  whom  ars  they  going  to 
marry  me  ?" 

"  My  stars !  I  protest  you  counterfeit  astonish nent 
to  perfection.  Of  course  the  favored  one  is  George 
Carter — and  I  assure  you,  Mary,  you're  quite  the 
envy  of  all  the  girls  for  snapping  him  up  30  soon  after 
his  return  from  Europe." 


MORNING    CALLS.  S8t 

*  You  surprise  me  Mrs.  Shaw.  I  've  seen  very  lit- 
tle of  George  Carter  since  he  came  home." 

"Ah,  do  you  think  I  shall  believe  you  when  ap- 
pearances are  so  very  strong  against  you  ?  Did  n't  I 
see  somebody's  curly  dog  lying  on  somebody's  piazza 
last  evening  ?" 

"  And  seeing  a  puppy  outside  oi  the  door,  it  waa 
very  natural  for  yaw  to  infer  that  there  was  another  one 
inside." 

"  0  Mary,  what  a  creature  you  are !  You  have 
auch  a  ready  wit.  Mr.  Shaw  says  he  never  knew 
your  equal  in  that  respect — he  does  admire  wit  in  a 
lady,  excessively.  But  I  '11  not  detain  you — give  my 
love  to  your  ma,  and  your  grandma,  too — and  tell  her 
how  deeply  interested  I  feel  in  her — I  do  hope  she  'il 
recover.  And  do  you  and  your  ma  come  round  and 
see  us  as  soon  as  you  can.  Serapheen  and  I  think  sc 
much  of  seeing  our  friends — your  ma  and  you  particu- 
larly— and  we  're  so  lonely  since  Angeleen  went  to 
New  York." 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Angeleen  lately  ?" 

"Yes,  we  received  a  letter  yesterday.  She  says, 
give  my  love  to  all  the  girls,  but  particularly  to  Mary 
Barber.  .  Angel  does  think  so  much  of  you.  (Misa 
Barber  bows.)  She  's  enjoying  herself  excessively — 
sees  a  great  deal  of  company.  You  know  how  it  i* 
in  the  city,  Mary — you  've  spent  so  much  time  there 
17 


386  WIDOW  BEDon    PAPERS. 

She  says  she  dreads  coming  back  to  this  dull  place  ex 
cessively." 

"  Well  then  I  hope  she  '11  snap  up  somebody  in  clie 
city,  and  not  be  compelled  to  come  back  here." 

"  What  a  quiz  you  are,  Mary !  but  I  must  go — give 
my  love  to  your  ma,  and  do  come  round  when  you 
can.  Good  morning." 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Shaw." 

Her  next  call  is  at  Dr.  More's. 

"  Good  morning,  Caroline.     Is  your  ma  at  home  ?" 

"  She  is.  She  's  engaged  jest  now  in  the  kitchen, 
but  she  '11  be  in  shortly." 

"  Now  don't  let  me  hinder  you  if  your  engaged 
about  any  thing — -just  take  me  right  in  where  you  're 
at  work." 

"Well,  then,  walk  into  the  sitting-room,  if  yon 
please — Charlotte  and  I  are  sewing  there." 

"  Good  morning,  Charlotte !  Dress-making,  eh  ?  Is 
that  for  you  or  Caroline  ?" 

"  For  me — but  Caroline  has  one  like  it.  Do  you 
think  it  pretty  ?" 

"I  do  50.  Those  large  plaids  are  excessively  be- 
coming to  a  tall  slender  person  like  you  and  Caroline 
— but  Mary  Barber  looks  wretchedly  in  them — she  's 
so  short  and  so  thick.  I  was  just  in  there — she  had 
on  a  plaid,  the  squares,  without  exaggeration,  as  largo 
as  my  two  hands — it  was  blue,  too,  and  you  know 
she  is  so  dark." 


CALLS.  887 


"  I  should  think  it  would  be  unbecoming  to  her  — 
out  Mary  cares  very  little  for  dress,  I  think." 

"  She  does  so  —  an  unpardonable  fault  in  a  young 
lady,  in  my  opinion.  Mr.  Shaw  thinks  a  young  lady 
should  be  always  neatly  and  becomingly  dressed.  He 
was  speaking  of  it  the  other  day,  and  contrasting  your 
two  girls  with  Mary  Barber.  '  But,'  said  he,  '  Mary 
might  be  ever  so  well  dressed  and  she  would  n't  look 
any  how  with  such  a  form  as  she  has.'  You  were 
passing  our  house  at  the  time  —  said  he,  *  there  's  a 
couple  of  the  finest  forms  in  Greenville.'  Mr.  Shaw 
does  admire  a  fine  form  in  a  lady  excessively.  But 
Mary  's  so  busy  writing  those  nonsensical  stories  and 
stuff  that  she  has  no  time  to  think  of  her  personal  ap- 
pearance. Did  you  ever  read  any  thing  so  flat? 
What  a  pity  that  she  so  mistakes  her  talent.  Mr. 
Shaw  laughs  about  it  —  he  does  dislike  a  blue  stocking 
excessively.  And,  Caroline,  don't  you  think  Mary  ia 
very  unrefined  in  her  conversation  ?" 

"  I  think  she  's  rather  abrupt,  sometimes." 

"  Abrupt  !  my  stars  !  I  tell  Mr.  Shaw  that  what  she 
intends  for  wit,  I  call  essential  vulgarity  ;  and  Mr. 
Shaw  agrees  with  me  —  he  does  dislike  such  things  in 
a  young  lady,  excessively.  I  think  she  's  rather  cen- 
sorious too  —  for  instance  she  pronounced  George  Car- 
ter a  puppy  —  at  which  I  confess  I  am  astonished." 

"  Well,  I  'm  astonished  too—  for  I  think  George  Car- 
ver a  fine  fellow." 


388       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"He  is  so,  Charlotte.  Serapheen  thinks  him  deci 
dedly  elegant ;  and  you  know  she 's  competent  to  give 
an  opinion — having  passed  two  winters  in  New  York, 
where  she  paw  a  great  deal  of  gentlemen's  society.  I 
was  excessively  sorry  to  hear  Mary  speak  so ;  but  1 
hope  you  won't  repeat  it ;  at  least  don't  mention  it  as 
coming  from  me.  I  merely  alluded  to  it  because  I 
felt  so  indignant  at  the  remark." 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Shaw." 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  More ;  how  's  your  health?" 

"  Very  good,  indeed — are  you  well,  Mrs.  Shaw  ?" 

"Oh.  no,  Mrs.  More.  I'm  miserable;  indeed  I 
ought  to  be  at  home  and  in  bed  now  ;  but  I  told  Mr. 
Shaw  that  the  morning  was  so  fine,  I  must  come  round 
to  see  you.  I  don't  pretend  to  call  except  upon  my 
particular  friends.  Mr.  Shaw  often  tells  me  I  make  a 
complete  hermit  of  myself— I  hope  I  'm  not  hindering 
you  this  morning,  Mrs.  More." 

"Oh,  not  at  all — you  must  excuse  me  for  not  com- 
ing in  sooner.  I  was  just  baking  and  could  n't  well 
'eave  my  bread." 

"Just  so — you  're  very  excusable — you  do  your  own 
\\  ork,  Mrs.  More,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,  our  family  is  small — only  Dr.  More  and  ue 
three— and  since  the  girls  were  old  enough  to  heljj 
me,  I  Ve  preferred  doing  without  servants." 

"  Well  now — what  ti  grand  thing  that  is  I  I  tell 
Mr  Shaw  T  should  be  co  delighted  if  I  could  get  along 


MORNING    CALLS.  389 

without  servants — they  are  such  a  plague  I  but  situated 
as  we  are,  it  would  be  utterly  impossible.  The  girls 
are  very  industrious — I  Ve  instructed  them  in  that  re- 
spect— but  they  are  away  so  much ;  our  relatives  in 
the  city  insist  upon  having  one  of  them  there  most  of 
the  time ;  and  my  health  is  so  precarious  that  I  can 
do  very  little.  And  then,  when  the  girls  are  at  home, 
they  are  necessarily  so  much  occupied  with  their  com- 
pany and  music.  Your  daughters  are  not  musicians, 
I  believe,  Mrs.  More  ?" 

"No— they  have  never  shown  any  fondness  for 
music — at  least  no  decided  talent  for  it ;  and  theii 
father  thought  it  would  be  a  useless  expense  to  have 
them  take  lessons." 

"  It  would  so,  Mrs.  More — Mr.  Shaw  and  myself 
would  never  have  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  having 
Angeleen  and  Serapheen  learn  music,  if  they  had  not 
shown  such  an  extraordinary  talent  for  it,  from  their 
very  infancy.  It 's  utter  nonsense  for  children  to 
study  any  thing  they  have  n't  a  taste  for,  especially 
music.  I  think  you  acted  very  judiciously." 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Angeleen,  lately  ?" 

*'  Yes,  Caroline — I  had  a  letter  from  her  yesterday. 
She  is  passing  her  time  very  pleasantly  at  her  unclers 
— but  she  says  she  does  want  to  see  her  pa  and  ma  and 
sis,  and  you  and  Charlotte  very  much  indeed.  She 
Bays,  *  give  my  love  to  all  the  girls,  but  particularly  to 
Caroline  and  Charlotte  More.'  Angel  does  think  so 


•390  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

much  of  her  friends — especially  your  two  girls.  See- 
ing you  making  a  sleeve,  Charlotte,  reminds  me  that 
she  speaks  of  the  fashions.  She  says  they  're  wearing 
that  kind  of  sleeve  now  very  much.  Who  cuts  your 
dresses,  Lotty?  they  always  fit  beautifully." 

"  We  cut  them  ourselves." 

"  My  stars !  you  amaze  me  1  why  Mrs.  More,  I  won- 
der if  there  's  any  thing  under  the  sun  that  yonr  girls 
can't  do." 

u  Yes — they  can't  play  on  the  piano.  I  had  them 
learn  to  cut  and  fit  of  Miss  Curtis,  before  she  went 
away — and  ever  since  they  have  made  all  our  dresses." 

"  My  stars !  If  that  is  n't  a  grand  idea.  You  are 
such  a  capital  manager,  Mrs.  More.  Mr.  Shaw  often 
remarks  that  Dr.  More's  family  is  a  model  for  its  ad- 
mirable management — and  it  is  so.  It  seems  to  me  I 
should  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world  if  I  could 
be  independent  of  hired  girls  and  mantua-makers.  I 
tell  Mr.  Shaw  they  're  the  plague  of  my  life.  Oh,  if 
my  girls  could  make  their  own  dresses  and  have  them 
fit  as  exquisitely  as  Carry's  and  Lotty's  do,  I  should  be 
90  rejoiced.  How  dreadfully  Mary  Barber's  dresses 
hang  on  her.  By  the  way,  Mrs.  More,  did  you  know 
that  old  Mrs.  Barber  is  quite  sick?" 

"  Oh  yes,  she  's  been  sick  some  time." 

"  Is  Dr.  More  her  physician  ?" 

"  No — they  employ  Dr.  Smith,  I  believe." 

"My  stars!  you  amaze  me,  Mrs.  Morel  that  miser- 


MORNING    CALL  8.  391 

able  homcepathipt !  Astonishing  that  people  will  be 
such  fools !  to  think  of  their  trusting  her  in  his  hands, 
when  there 's  such  a  skillful  physician  as  Dr.  More 
close  by ;  why  I  have  n't  the  least  confidence  in  th^t 
kind  of  practice — and  Dr.  More  enjoys  such  a  reputa- 
tion too  1  Mr.  Shaw  says  that  if  Dr.  Billings  had  n't 
been  our  family  physician  before  Dr.  More  came  here 
he  should  certainly  have  employed  Dr.  More.  How- 
ever, Mrs.  More,  between  you  and  me,  I  presume  Dr. 
More  has  escaped  an  undesirable  job.  I  should  think 
old  Mrs.  Barber  would  be  an  excessively  disagreeable 
patient.  She  is  so  very  repulsive  vrhen  she  's  welL 
Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  she  s  rather  reserved — 
though  I  like  her." 

"  Eeserved !  my  stars  I  she 's  as  cold  as  an  icicle — 
I  don't  see  how  you  can  like  her,  especially  when  she 
bas  treated  Dr.  More  so  shabbily." 

"I  did  feel  rather  hurt  that  they  discharged  Dr 
More ;  but  they  were  urged  by  some  of  their  friends 
to  try  the  homoeopathic  system.  It 's  not  from  any 
want  of  confidence  in  Dr.  More — they  are  very  friend 
ly  to  him — and  I  dare  say  they  '11  employ  him  again, 
at  some  future  time,  if  they  're  not  satisfied  with  Dr. 
Smith's  practice." 

"  Well,  I  hope  that  Dr.  More  will  decline  attending 
them ;  he  certainly  ought  to  do  so.  I  went  in  there 
this  morning  from  a  sense  of  duty.  I  never  call  upon 


392       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

any  but  my  particular  friends,  excepc  in  case  of  mok 
ness ,  and  the  Barbers  are  such  a  queer  family.  I 
never  knew  what  to  make  of  them.  But  I  must  go ; 
I  always  stay  so  long  when  I  come  here.  I  tell  Mr 
Shaw  I  never  know  when  to  get  away  from  Dr. 
M  ore's.  I  do  think  so  much  of  your  family.  Now 
do  come  round  Mrs.  More ;  you  never  come — and  the 
girls  are  not  sociable  at  all ;  do  come.  Seraph  and  I 
are  so  lonely,  etc.  etc." — (Imagine  the  rest). 

She  next  proceeds  to  Dr.  Smith's. 

tf  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Smith." 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Shaw;  you  look  fatigued; 
take  tlib  rocking-chair — do." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Smith,  I  will,  for  I  am  quite 
weioy ;  have  made  several  calls  this  morning :  calls 
are  an  awful  bore  to  me  in  my  state  of  health,  except 
when  I  go  to  see  my  particular  friends." 

"  Sure — is  your  health  not  good,  Mrs.  Shaw  ?" 

"It's  miserable,  Mrs.  Smith — miserable.  I  really 
ought  to  be  at  home  and  in  bed  now,  but  I  told  Mr. 
•Shaw  that  the  morning  was  so  nne>  I  must  get  round 
and  see  Mrs.  Smith.  I  Ve  so  long  been  wishing  to 
come.  Mr.  Shaw  thought  I  was  rather  imprudent  fx> 
walk  so  far ;  but  I  told  him-  I  would  stop  and  lest 
several  times  on  the  way.  I  would  n't  attempt  to  take 
such  a  walk  except  to  see  a  very  particular  friend) 
which  I  hope  I  may  call  you,  Mrs.  Smith." 


MORNING    CALLS.  393 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Shaw — you  do  me  much  honor. 
E  hope  you  will  not  be  the  worse  for  the  exertion. 
Have  you  been  long  an  invalid  ?" 

"I  have  so;  my  health  has  been  very  precarious 
for  some  years.  0,  Mrs.  Smith,  you  can  not  imagine 
how  excessively  tired  I  've  become  of  taking  such 
quantities  of  medicine  as  the  old-fashioned  doctors 
give.  I  tell  Mr.  Shaw  the  very  sight  of  it  disgusts  me." 

"Sure." 

"  I  've  heard  so  much  of  Dr.  Smith's  astonishing 
success  in  his  practice,  that  I  should  n't  hesitate  a  mo- 
ment tc  place  myself  under  his  care,  and  go  through 
a  course  of  homcepathic  treatment,  if  it  were  not  for 
fear  of  offending  old  Dr.  Billings,  who  has  always 
been  our  family  physician;  and  we  are  fearful  he 
might  feel  hurt,  you  know." 

"  Sure — but  I  do  not  think  he  would  be.  Dr.  Smith 
has  one  of  Dr,  Mare's  patients,  Mrs.  Barber,  under  his 
care;  and  Dr.  More  doesn't  appear  to  be  at  all  dis- 
pleased about  it." 

"I  think  you're  mistaken,  Mrs.  Smith,  for  I've^ 
heard  Mrs.  More  speak  of  it  with  considerable  bitter- 
ness. She  said  her  feelings  were  very  much  hurt  at 
the  Barbers'  discharging  her  husband.  Though  she 
remarked  that  she  felt  confident  they  would  become 
dissatisfied  with  Dr.  Smith,  and  send  for  Dr.  More 
again." 

"  Well,  I  declare !     I  '11  tell  the  doctor  of  that— 
17* 


394       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

it 's  the  first  time  I  Ve  heard  of  any  one's  speaking 
against  my  husband's  practice." 

"You  know,  Mrs.  Smith,  Dr.  More  is  a  very  penu- 
rious man,  and  of  course  would  not  like  to  have  a  rich 
patient  slip  through  his  fingers." 

"  Is  he  a  dose  man  ?     I  did  n't  know  it  before," 
"  He  is  so — are  you  acquainted  with  the  family  ?" 
"  No — Mrs.  More  has  never  called  on  me." 
"  Well,  that 's  not  strange — it  costs  something  yon 
know  to  keep  up  an  acquaintance." 

"  I  thought  they  were  quite  a  genteel  family." 
"  Genteel ! — my  stars !  they  are  excessively  plain." 
"  I  'm  sure  the  daughters  dress  in  good  style." 
"  I  'm  aware  of  that,  Mrs.  Smith ;  but  they  pinch 
and  save  in  every  other  way." 
"  Sure ! — how  you  talk !" 

"  They  keep  no  servants  at  all,  though  Dr.  More  is 
abundantly  able ;  there  are  few  richer  men  in  Green- 
ville. Mrs.  More  works  like  a  slave — and  so  do  the 
girls." 

"  Sure  1 — how  you  talk,  Mrs.  Shaw !" 
"  I  tell  Mr.  Shaw  I  do  really  pity  those  poor  girls ; 
notwithstanding  the  doctors'  ample  means,  he  has 
never  given  them  the  advantage  of  a  genteel  educa- 
tion." 

"  Sure  1     You  don't  say  so,  Mrs.  Shaw !" 
"  Just  so,    Mrs.  Smith — they '  ve  not    even  learnt 
music  J" 


MORNING    CALLS.  895 

"Mercy  on  us!" 

"  But  they  Ve  takeu  lessons  in ,  what  do  you 

think? — just  guess,  Mrs.  Smith." 

"  Well,  I  'm  sure  I  can't  tell— is  it  drawing?" 

"  Drawing !  My  stars !  You  'd  never  guess  till 
your  dying  day — dress-making ! !" 

'*  Mercy  on  us !  he,  he,  he,  he,  he  1  how  Ann  Eliza 
would  laugh  to  hear  that.  It 's  the  last  thing  I  evei 
should  have  thought  of." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Shaw  says  he  'd  do  any  thing  in  the 
world  before  he  'd  let  me  and  the  girls  work  as  they 
do.  He  says  if  it  took  his  last  sixpence,  Angel  and 
Seraph  should  learn  music." 

"  Sure— I  should  n't  think  Ann  Eliza  fit  for  genteel 
society,  unless  she  could  play  on  the  piano — how  I 
should  feel  if  her  pa  should  want  her  to  make  her  own 
di  esses." 

"  You  would  so,  Mrs.  Smith — it 's  the  only  accom- 
plishment that  the  More's  possess ;  and  no  wonder  they 
carry  it  to  such  perfection,  and  pinch  up  their  waists  to 
the  size  of  a  chair-post.  Did  you  ever  see  such  sights 
as  their  waists?" 

"  They  are  very  small,  indeed." 

"  They  look  perfectly  ridiculous — Mr.  Shaw  can't 
hear  such  forms ;  he  says  a  little  waist  is  a  deformity 
rather  than  a  beauty." 

'•I  think  so  to.  I've  never  let  Ann  Eliza  lace 
ught.'' 


396  WIDOW    E.EDOTT    PAPERS. 

"  Well,  you  have  acted  very  judiciously,  Mrs. 
Smith ;  how  is  Ann  Eliza  ?" 

"  She  's  quite  well,  thank  you.  She  's  gone  out  this 
morning  to  make  calls." 

"Well,  I  hope  she'll  go  round  to  our  house. 
Seraph  would  be  so  delighted  to  see  her — Ann  Eliza  's 
a  lovely  girl.  I  'm  told  she  was  a  great  belle  at  Coon- 
ville." 

"  Well,  it 's  not  for  me  to  say  as  to  that." 

"  Of  course — but  you  can't  help  being  proud  of  her, 
Mrs.  Smith.  How  sweetly  she  looked  last  Sabbath 
day  !  Mr.  Shaw  remarked  it.  He  admires  her  style 
of  beauty  excessively.  I  observed  she  had  on  one  of 
the  new-fashioned  capes.  Angeleen  writes  me  that 
they  're  very  much  worn  by  the  first  in  New  York." 

"  Yes — Ann  Eliza  heard  they  were  very  fashion- 
able among  genteel  people.  Have  you  heard  from 
Angeleen,  lately?" 

"  Eeceived  a  letter  yesterday — she 's  very  happy  , 
says  she  's  engaged  in  one  constant  round  of  parties 
and  swearees — -just  what  Angel  likes,  you  know; 
she 's  so  fond  of  society.  She  says,  give  my  love  to 
all  the  girls,  but  particularly  to  Ann  Eliza  Smith 
She  does  love  Ann  Eliza.  Bat  I  must  go." 

"Don't  be  in  haste,  Mrs.  Shaw." 

"  0,  I  Ve  staid  a  long  time.  I  always  do  stay  for- 
ever when  I  come  here.  Now  do  come  round  Mm 
Smith — run  in  at  any  time — don't  be  ceremonious 


MORNING    CALLS.  3fl? 

I  never  use  any  ceremony  with  my  particular  niends. 
Tell  Ann  Eliza  to  come  round,  etc  etc." 

Her  next  call  is  at  Mr.  Price's,  the  minister. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Price?" 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you — how  are  you,  Mrs.  Shaw  ?" 

"  Poorly,  Mrs.  Price — quite  poorly." 

"  I  Jm  very  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"  Keally,  Mrs.  Price,  I  must  take  you  to  task  foi  not 
coming  round  to  see  me  this  long  time.  You  Ve  not 
done  your  duty  as  a  minister's  wife." 

"  I  Ve  not  been  able  to  go,  Mrs.  Shaw.  Gustus  has 
been  sick  with  the  m easels,  and  I  Ve  not  been  out  at 
all  for  three  weeks." 

"  My  stars !  how  you  shock  me,  Mrs.  Price.  I  have 
n't  heard  a  word  of  Augustus  being  sick,  or  I  should 
certainly  have  been  round ;  I  always  go  to  see  the 
sick  if  I  am  able  to  crawl — but  my  health  is  so  preca- 
rious that  I  very  seldom  get  out.  I  told  Mr.  Shaw  the 
morning  was  so  fine  I  must  get  out  and  see  my  minis- 
ter's  folks,  though  it 's  a  very  long  walk  for  me.  How 
is  dear  little  Gusty  now  ?" 

"  Much  better — so  as  to  be  able  to  go  to  school  to- 
day." 

'  I  'm  very  glad — very  indeed.  Augustus  is  such  a 
noble  boy — Mr.  Shaw  says  he  is  without  exception  the 
finest  child  he  ever  saw,  What  a  mercy  that  the 
Lord  saw  fit  to  spare  him  ! 

"It  was,  indeed— I  feel  to  be  thankful." 


398       WIDOY  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

" Iff  Mr.  Price  at  home?" 

"  He  is.     I  li  speak  to  him." 

"  Now  don't  disturb  him,  Mrs.  Price,  if  he 's  en- 
gaged ;  but  his  conversation  is  so  instructive  I  would 
like  excessively  to  see  him." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Price,  I  hope  you  're  well — quite  well?" 

"  Perfectly  so,  Sister  Shaw.  I  trust  you  are  in  the 
enjoyment  of  more  comfortable  corporeal  health  than 
has  recently  fallen  to  your  lot?" 

"  I  regret  that  I  am  not,  Mr.  Price — my  health  is 
very  delicate — I  assure  you,  it  was  a  great  exertion 
for  me  to  walk  so  far  this  morning.  I  told  Mr.  Shaw 
I  would  n't  have  thought  of  going  such  a  distance  to 
see  any  one  but  you  and  Mrs.  Price." 

"  Y-e-s — I  assure  you,  Sister  Shaw,  I  appreciate  the 
effort,  and  am  tiuly  gratified  to  see  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Price,  it  does  me  so  much  good  to 
talk  with  you  occasionally." 

'<  Y-e-s — well,  how  do  you  f-e-e-1  now,  Sister  Shaw, 
IE  legard  to  your  mind?" 

"  O.  Mr.  Price,  I  can  not  say  that  I  always  feel  as  I 
ought  to — owing  tG  the  precarious  state  of  my  health, 
uiy  feelings  are  variable." 

"  F-e-s — quite  natural  they  should  be  so." 

':  Sometimes  I  feel  a  degree  of  coldness  and  apathy, 
and  am  almost  tempted  to  give  up  my  hope ;  and  again 
I  experience  great  comfort,  and  my  evidences  of  ac- 
ceptance are  very  strong.'" 


MORNING    CALLS.  399 

"Y-e-s— -as  a  general  thing,  you  enjoy  religion,  1 
suppose  ?" 

"  I  do  so— O,  Mr.  Price,  what  should  I  do  without 
religion  ?  I  cell  Mr.  Shaw,  that  with  my  miserable 
health,  religion  is  my  only  support." 

"  Y-e-s— how  does  Mr.  Shaw  feel?" 

"  O,  Mr.  Price,  I  regret  to  say,  that  he  does  not  feel 
his  lost  and  ruined  condition  as  sensibly  as  1  could 
wish  0 !  0 1  if  that  man  only  had  saving  faith — and 
if  Serapheen  was  only  a  Christian — my  happiness 
would  be  complete!" 

"  Y-e-s — I  trust  that  you  wrestle  for  them,  without 
ceasing  at  the  throne  of  grace?" 

"I  do  so,  Mr.  Price— I  do  so." 

"  Y-e-s — and  do  you  feel,  that  in  case  the  Lord 
should  see  fit  to  disregard  your  petitions,  and  consign 
them  to  everlasting  misery,  you  could  acquiesce  in  his 
decrees,  and  rejoice  in  their  destruction  ?" 

"  I  feel  that  I  could  without  a  murmur." 

"  Y-e-s — I  am  very  happy,  Sister  Shaw,  to  find  you 
in  such  a  desirable  state  of  mind." 

"  But,  Mr,  Price,  I  feel  at  times  excessively  exer- 
cised, in  view  of  the  lew  tate  of  religion  in  Green- 
ville, now." 

"Y-e-s — it  is  truly  melancholy,  the  ways  <)(  Zioii 
languish." 

"  They  do  so — it 's  time  we  had  another  protracted 
meeting.  I  don't  know  when  T  Ve  had  my  feelings  w 


400       WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

tried  as  they  have  been  this  morning,  to  see  the  cold 
ness  and  worldliness  of  some  of  our  people.  On  my 
way  here,  I  stopped  to  rest  at  several  places — and  O, 
my  dear  Mr.  Price !  it  was  so  distressing  to  witness 
the  unconcern  that  was  manifested." 

"  Y-e-s." 

"  I  called  at  Mrs.  Barber's — they  're  very  irreligious 
people  you  know." 

"Y-e-s — no  experimental  acquaintance  with  saving 
faith." 

"  None  whatever.  The  old  lady  's  quite  sick — on 
her  death-bed,  perhaps — I  did  n't  see  her — they  did  n't 
ask  me  to  go  in — you  know  they  're  very  peculiar 
people — so  distant.  I  did  want  to  see  her,  and  find 
out  how  she  felt — and  whether  she  expected  to  get  to 
heaven  on  good  works  now.  You  know  you  used  to 
think  she  did." 

"  Ye-s — I  had  reason  to  suppose  so,  from  her  con- 
duct." 

"  It  would  be  dreadful,  if  the  old  lady  should  die  in 
such  a  state  of  mind — would  n't  it,  Mr.  Price  ?" 

"Y-e-s— 

1  Behold  the  aged  sinner  goes, 
Laden  with  guilt  and  heavy  woes, 
Down  to  the  regions  of  the  dead 
With  endless  curses  on  her  head.' 

How  remarkably  those  words  of  the  sacred  poet  ap- 
ply to  her  case !" 
"  They  do  so     I  did  n't  see  Mrs.  George  Barber  nei 


MORNING    CALLS.  401 

ther.  She  was  with  the  old  lady — but  I  sa-w  Mary — 
what  a  hardened  girl  she  is!  Why,  Mr.  Price,  she 
actually  called  on  the  name  of  the  adversary  of  souls 
in  the  course  of  her  conversation.  I  never  was  so 
shocked!" 

"  Dreadful !  awfully  dreadful,  Sister  Shaw  I" 

"And  the  Mores,  too — I  was  in  there — how  excess- 
ively worldly  they  are — think  of  nothing  but  making 
and  saving  money — and  what  is  money  good  for? 
nothing — just  nothing,  Mr.  Price — it 's  tin  root  of  all 
evil,  Mr.  Price." 

«  Y-e-s— y-e-s." 

Though  poor  Mr.  Price  thought  in  his  heart  that  a 
little  of  that  same  root  would  n't  come  amiss  to  him. 

"And  Dr.  Smith's  people — I  called  there,  too — 
what  a  poor,  silly  woman,  Mrs.  Smith  is — entirely  de- 
voted to  the  world  and  its  follies.  She  thinks  more 
of  having  her  daughter  shine  in  society,  than  she  does 
of  saving  her  soul,  I  do  believe.  O,  Mr.  Price,  I  was 
sick  at  heart — I  could  have  wept  as  I  sat  there,  and 
heard  that  woman  run  on  about  her  daughter  being  a 
belle,  and  dressing  in  style  and  all  that.  Poor  Ann 
Eliza !  she  has  no  parent  to  wrestle  for  her  ai;  the 
throne  of  grace,  as  my  dear  Serepheen  has !  I  do  feel 
for  her — no  wonder  that  she  's  such  a  trifling  thought- 
less thing." 

"Y-e-s — it  is  truly  melancholy  to  be  m  her  condi- 
tion." 


402  WIDOW    BEDOTT    PAPERS. 

"  O,  there  's  an  alarming  state  of  things  in  Green 
ville  now,  Mr.  Price — we  must  have  a  protracted  meet- 
ing, Mr.  Price." 

•'  Y-e-s,  Sister  Shaw,  we  must  endeavor  to  do  so." 

"  I  feel  as  if  something  must  be  done  for  impenitent 
sinners  in  Greenville.  It 's  three  years  since  we  had  a 
special  effort — 't  was  before  you  came  here,  Mr.  Price 
— there  was  a  great  outpouring  of  the  Spirit — Angel- 
een  experienced  religion — and  I  feel  to  believe,  that  if 
we  could  have  another,  Mr.  Shaw  and  Serapheen 
would  come  out.  And  then  a  great  many  of  those 
that  were  hopefully  converted  at  the  last  meeting,  have 
gone  back  into  the  world,  and  want  to  be  re-converted. 
We  must  get  up  a  revival,  Mr.  Price.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

"  Y-e-s,  I  feel  convinced  that  a  protracted  effort  might 
be  signally  blest  if  the  church  would  come  up  to  the 
work.  Speaking  of  your  absent  daughter,  Sister  Shaw- 
have  you  heard  from  her  lately  ?" 

"  I  have  so — received  a  letter  yesterday  She  de- 
sired to  be  particularly  remembered  to  her  dear  friends; 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Price." 

"  Y-e-  s,  thank  you — did  she  say  what  was  the  state 
of  religion  in  New  York  now  ?" 

"  Very  low,  she  says — very  low,  indeed.  She  at- 
tends Dr.  Kitties'  church  with  her  uncle's  family ;  but 
she  says  she  does  want  to  hear  one  of  your  excellent, 
spiritual  sermons  again  Mr.  Price.  She 's  heartily 


MOKNING    CALLS.  403 

aiok  of  the  gayetj  of  the  city.  She  's  obliged  to  min- 
gle in  it  some,  you  know ;  but  such  things  are  very 
itncongenial  to  Angel's  taste.  She  does  long  to  come 
home  to  her  old  friends,  and  sit  under  her  dear  Mr. 
Price's  preaching  once  more.  Angel  is  very  much  at- 
tached to  you  and  Mrs.  Price,  and  so  fond  of  retire- 
ment. '  Ma,'  she  says  in  her  letter,  '  I  'm  utterly  worn 
out  with  visits,  parties,  and  swearees.'  " 

"  Swearees  !  I  trust  those  are  not,  as  the  name  im- 
ports, profane  assemblages." 

"  By  no  means,  Mr.  Price,  '  Swearees'  is  the  French 
for  '  ice-cream  parties ;'  but  I  must  go — my  visits  here 
are  so  refreshing.  I  always  stay  longer  than  I  intend 
to.  What  an  intensely  interesting  sermon  you  gave  us 
last  Sabbath  day,  Mr.  Price  it  did  me  so  much  good. 
Mr.  Shaw  was  excessively  delighted  with  it--1  that  Js 
what  I  call  preaching,'  said  he  to  me,  as  we  were  going 
home.  O,  Mr.  Price,  it  is  such  a  deprivation  to  me 
not  to  be  able  to  attend  the  evening  prayer-meeting 
offcener,  but  my  health  is  so  precarious  that  I  can  not 
do  as  inclination  prompts  ;  but  Ifiel  that  such  depri- 
vations are  sent  as  trials  to  my  faith." 

"  Y-e-s,  undoubtedly,  Sister  Shaw— and  I  trust  that 
your  faith  will  be  strengthened  by  them." 

"I  do  most  ardently  hope  so — but  I  must  go — now 
do  come  round,  Mr.  Price,  and  you,  Mrs.  Price,  I  think 
so  much  of  having  you  come." 


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